Fugitive Prince
by March Madness
Summary: A prophecy stretches war a decade too long, ending with the Potter’s second son flourishing while the first suffers a dark life of ignominy. Harry Potter now rests in the hands of Fate as he’s forced to prove his worth to a world that doesn't care to
1. Prologue

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Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

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Will was never able afterwards to tell how long he spent with the Book of Gramarye. So much went into him from its pages and changed him that the reading might have taken a year; yet so totally did it absorb his mind that when he came to an end he felt that he hand only that moment begun. It was indeed not a book like other books.

-The Dark Is Rising, Susan Cooper

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Prologue

"Mr. Potter?"

James looked up nervously, standing as the nurse approached him. He could never understand why Lily preferred using muggles when healers where just as good. "Yes, that's me."

She looked over at him sympathetically. "You can see your wife now-"

"Thank God!" He didn't wait another moment before taking off, running down the crowded halls until he reached Lily's room. She was lying in bed, half-asleep, but shook awake when the door opened. The first thing that James noticed was the tearstains running down her cheeks.

"Lily?" he breathed. She didn't answer, just gave a half sob. "Lily, what's wrong? What happened?"

She turned over in the bed, not wanting to look at him, but James grabbed her arms and pulled her against him. "Shh," he soothed against her sobs. He ran a hand through her red hair, delighting in its soft feel. "It's alright. Everything's going to be ok."

"N-no," Lily whispered. She pulled back, trying to get away. "Nothing's ok."

James brushed her hair again, not letting her get away. "Lily?" No answer. "Li-"

"Leave me alone, James," she hissed, leaping away from his touch. "Don't touch me."

James watched her, startled, as she walked to the other side of the room, shivering and holding her arms against her chest in a vain attempt at warmth. She got to the window when she broke down in sobs again and James was there in an instant, trying to soothe her again. This time, she didn't pull away when he held her.

"James, I'm so sorry."

"For what?" he asked, truly bewildered by everything that had happened. She didn't answer right away so James wiped the tears from her eyes and lifted her chin to stare into those green emerald eyes. She blinked painfully and tried to look away but James didn't let her. "There is nothing you could do," he whispered softly, "that would ever make me hate you. So please, tell me what's wrong."

Sniffing, Lily tried to look down but wasn't allowed to by her husband. "I was pregnant, James."

"Pregnant?" he repeated. And smiled. "Pregnant? That's wonderful Lily! That's-"

"I said _was_," she interrupted coldly. James's happy attitude vanished in the face of her anger.

"What do you mean?"

"There is no baby, not anymore." James still didn't look like he understood and Lily sighed. "T-the doctors say that I've lost the baby. Miscarriage." Her anger crumbled again and Lily buried her face against James's chest. "I'm so sorry. It's all my fault-"

"What?" James snapped out of it, nearly jumping back in surprise. "No, no it's not your fault, love. It's no one's fault. These things... these things just happen." He could hear his own voice cracking and swallowed, determined to be strong for Lily. He rubbed her back, trying not to let her see the own tears in his eyes. "Shh. Quiet now, and quit blaming yourself."

"But James, what if this means I'm a bad mother?" she sobbed. "What if this means we'll never have children?"

"I can live without children," James assured her firmly. "It's you I can't live without."

Lily sniffed and hugged James tightly. "I love you."

"I love you, too." James happened to glance at the clock. "Oh, Sirius should be here soon. And Remus and Peter."

"Please don't tell them," Lily pleaded, head hanging low. "I-I'm not ready to face them about this."

James gave Lily a look but nodded, pulling her in for another hug where she shuddered and collapsed in his arms.

"James? Lily?" The door opened. "James-oh, there you are!" Peter walked in, smiling brightly with a bunch of flowers in one hand, his hat and coat in the other. He gave them a look. "Making out in the hospital, of all places," Peter chided playfully, shaking his flowers at them. The petals rustled and some fell to the floor. "What's to become of all the children?"

He didn't understand, then, when Lily started to choke up. James hurriedly made a motion for Peter to shut up and the friend shrugged. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Peter held out the flowers. "T-these are for you, Lily."

Lily, eyes still leaking tears, managed to smile shakily at him and took the flowers, hands shaking. "Thank you, Peter."

"I'm sorry, I must have come at a bad time," he apologized. "Forgive me."

"James," Lily tugged at his arm. "Can you go get me something to eat? I haven't had anything in hours."

"Will you be alright by yourself?" he asked urgently, eyes locked on her so that the room--and the world--faded away, leaving only his wife for him.

"I'll be fine," she promised. "And Peter's here, remember."

James snapped his head back and bashfully nodded at his friend. "That's right."

"I'll watch her James," Peter promised, looking a bit uptight at being forgotten. "Go get something to eat."

James left the room, nearly tripping at the door and, by the sound of it, out again in the hall. Peter sighed in mock mourning. "What a klutz."

Wordlessly, Lily nodded, sparking Peter's curiosity and worry. "Everything's alright, right Lily?" he asked.

Blinking, Lily nodded again, a bleary smile on her face. "Yea, Peter. Everything's fine."

"The doctors didn't find anything then?" Peter let out a breath of relief. "I was really worried, what with you acting all moody lately--er, I mean-"

Lily let out a sliver of laughter, and, painful though it was, it eased up Peter's worries. She reached out and took one of his hands in her own. "There is nothing wrong with me, Peter. I promise."

For a moment, Peter simply looked at her, watched her like he was trying to gauge her honesty. And for a moment, Lily felt her walls crumbling, her mouth opening, and her tears flowing, all telling her to _trust_ Peter, to tell him what was wrong.

The door opened and Sirius walked in, an insanely bright smile on his face as he unknowingly broke away all those thoughts. "Lily!"

She laughed at the extremely silly expression on his face, pain disappearing with his presence. "Sirius, how did you get in here?"

"Well, it wasn't easy," he confided, leaning close to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. He then pulled up a seat and leaned his elbows on his knees, a look of concentration on his face. "As soon as I walked into those doors, the ones that let you see through them and that open when you get close enough, I was absolutely ambushed by those nurses. Every one of them insisted that I was in dire need of that mouth-to-mouth. Of course, I tried my best to get away, but, wouldn't you know it, they followed me!"

The door opened again and Sirius leaped up. "There's one now!"

Remus walked in, not having heard the story Sirius had come up but with rolling his eyes just the same. He smiled at Lily and kissed her cheek the same as Sirius. "Lily, how are you?"

"I'm fine, Remus." And she felt fine, now. All she needed was James--and some food--and the entire world would be right.

"Are you, truly?" the werewolf asked again, staring his amber eyes into her green ones. Lily's casual answer choked in the face of his selfless care for her.

James walked in, completing Lily's unspoken wish as he gave her three candy bars. "Sorry, but that's all they have. They won't let me into the cafeteria. Something about a madman on the loose, last seen heading this way, attacking the nurses--oh Sirius, hello. Didn't see you there."

"If you wanted to know," Sirius sniffed. "It was them attacking me."

"So why did you have to come here, to the hospital?" Remus asked, not letting his question get swept aside.

James exchanged an unseen look with Lily and smiled slightly. "Oh, that. Well, um, you see... Lily, here, happened to, um-"

"Eat."

"Yea, she, um, ate something that didn't quite... agree with her?" James shrugged at Lily's wide-eyed look, trying to say 'Don't blame me.'

Remus watched James and Lily carefully. "Right."

"What, you don't believe me?"

"None of us particularly do, James," Sirius answered, stealing one of Lily's candy bars. He chewed on it loudly, ignoring Lily's cries of 'Thief!' "It's just that Remus is the only one brave enough to say it to your face."

"Brave enough?" James looked at his friends incredulously. "Are you saying I'm scary?"

"No James, you're as harmless as a stuffed bunny. It's just that your, um, breath--I don't know how to say this but... well, to put it nicely, your breath makes a nundu jealous."

Lily laughed and threw a hospital pillow at her friends, which started a pillow fight that lasted until a flustered nurse came in and ordered all visitors out. James stayed behind, getting the special privilege only a husband gets, and pulled Lily close once the others were gone. 

"You sure you're fine?" he asked one last time and, with a sleepy sigh, Lily nodded before falling asleep in James's arms.


	2. Chapter I

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Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

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Sephrenia shrieked, "Defiled ones! Foul and accursed!" But the lights in the fog never faltered as they continued their glowing, inexorable advance. "Run! Run for your lives! It's the Shining ones!"

The Shining Ones, David Eddings

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Chapter I

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And the Stag will grace the forest fields,

Battling against the night and day.

The Bloom shall her fumes exhume

And bring the Stag into the hay.

Second born, second son, second one will come to be

Second born from the womb, a balance to the calamity.

The day clashes against the night,

The night against the day.

Beware, oh night, when comes the time,

The Stag is lured into the hay.

Beware, oh day, when comes the time,

For night steals innocence away.

Voldemort turned the paper over in his hands, reading and rereading the puzzling lines over and over again. He looked up. "Tell me again about this Potter," he commanded. "Are you sure they are the ones in the prophecy?"

Before him, a pale and nervous wreck of a human being shuddered at the feel of those red-tinted eyes on him but nodded, sweat pouring down his face. "Y-yes, Master. J-James is the Stag."

"Explain."

Peter gulped and rubbed his hands together, trying to regain some sense of his Gryffindor bravery. "J-James is an animagus. H-he can turn into a stag. And L-Lily, she's named after a flower."

Voldemort brought a pale, skeletal hand to rest his chin in. "It could be coincidence," he murmured. And he glanced back to the paper. "But perhaps..." Almost forgetfully, Voldemort looked down to his quivering servant. "You have done well in bringing me this information."

Peter nearly shivered in delight; his master was never one lacking in rewards.

"But, you should have told me of this sooner. _Crucio!_"

The other Death Eaters watched unsympathetically as the rat turned and screamed in agony. When Voldemort finally withdrew the curse, Peter was left gasping for breath on the floor.

Voldemort turned away from his torture, going back to the parchment in his hands that held so much interest. "Second born? Hmm." He snapped his fingers and all the Death Eaters bowed submissively. "I need these Potters to be watched closely, Peter," he ordered. The prophecy in his hands began to burn and he dropped it carelessly. "When their second son is born, I am to be informed immediately."

The flames hit the floor and caught onto a trail of liquid--oil--and burst higher.

"Until then, none shall touch them. Their second son is either to be my greatest enemy, or my closest ally, depending on whom receives him first. I intend to do so." Voldemort's eyes burned as bright as the spreading fire. "Severus, you will make sure that no one else hears of this."

Voldemort vanished and his Death Eaters vanished as well as the great old manor of Albus Dumbledore's seer-brother burned away into flames.

*

Severus wasted no time; his information was too important, too shocking that even he struggled to believe it. A traitor! In their midst, deep in the heart of the order. Severus knew, with an absolute, dreadful certainty, that if he should give the name of this spy to Dumbledore, his own position of spy would also be revealed. He could keep his mouth shut, and try his best to make sure that the traitor learned no more information--a hard trick, because the particular person was trusted with very intimate information--or he could reveal the traitor to everyone and risk his own life in the bargain. 

It wasn't too hard a choice.

The gargoyle was yawning lazily and didn't jump right away when given the password, annoying Severus further. Everything was patronizing; from the fact that he had been unable to see the spy before, to how long it had taken to get from the Death Eater meeting back to Hogwarts, to the thought of Voldemort finding out that he was a spy. All he needed now was-

"Hey, Snape-y!"

Severus scowled and glared at the young man before him, trying to get all his hate across in a single visible blow. "Black," he growled. "Get out of my way."

Black shook his head, blocking the door to Dumbledore's room. "Nope, you're going to have ta guess the password. And be quick," he added with a nasty grin. "It changes every few seconds."

"Get out of my way," Severus repeated angrily. He tried to shove past but was turned away. "I have to speak with the headmaster!"

"What about?"

He glared but Black wasn't the least bit affected. "Why don't you take a guess?" he drawled insultingly. "If I am in a hurry to speak with Dumbledore and have just returned from a summons-"

Black rolled his eyes but thankfully got out of the way. For a moment, Severus thought that he did it of his own free will, but realized the truth when the door opened behind them. Dumbledore stuck his head out, smiling at the two young wizards. "Ah, Severus. I was expecting you."

"Sir, there has been some startling news," Severus blurted out, then fought against the blush trying to burn his cheeks. He _never_ spoke out of turn, much less in Dumbledore's presence. And he never lost his cool. Both of these self-made rules had just been violated.

Dumbledore's smiled dampened a bit and he nodded, opening the door further. "Yes, come in."

Severus was about to do just that when Black started before him. "And where are you going?"

Black looked over and shrugged. "In, I suppose."

"This doesn't concern you," Severus hissed.

"No?" Black shrugged again. "It probably doesn't, but there's always a possibility that it might. Besides, Dumbledore didn't say I couldn't."

Dumbledore smiled at the statement and Severus fumed but held back his temper, not wanting to resort to childish arguing. They all took a seat, Dumbledore behind his desk and Severus and Black in the chair opposite him.

The headmaster shuffled his hands a moment before talking. "You said something about news?"

"Yes." He cast a glance at Black then mentally shrugged; if the man was outraged, then it was his own fault for being here. "I've discovered a traitor, sir. A spy."

"A spy?" Black repeated incredulously. "In the Order?"

"Unheard of," Dumbledore agreed. "But not impossible. Proceed, Severus."

He felt nervous now, though why was beyond him. "This afternoon, Aberforth's house was attacked." He paused at the blank expression on Dumbledore's face. "He was killed."

"Oh?" Dumbledore stared off in the distance a moment before shaking his head.

Severus waited but nothing more was said. "Before he died, your brother gave Voldemort a paper with a prophecy written on it, his last prophecy. Everyone knows of Aberforth's divination skills; it was why Voldemort picked him as a victim."

Dumbledore looked confused. "There is something wrong," he finally said. "Just three days ago, when I first heard of Voldemort's plans, I placed Aberforth under the Fidilius Charm."

Black eyed the headmaster. "Could it have been an imposter? If Aberforth vanished, certainly someone would try to fake his personality. His house is enviable, his social standing high."

Severus considered the possibility and nodded. "It may be so," he agreed. "But, nonetheless, the prophecy was certainly true enough." He quickly related the short, poem-like foretelling.

Black reacted just like the rat did. "That's James!"

"What?"

"Potter seems to have a secret animagus ability, a stag to be exact," Severus explained coolly, ignoring the look on Black's face. "I was as surprised as Voldemort when I heard it."

"Can you write this prophecy down?" Dumbledore asked, and Severus nodded, scrambling for a quill. Dumbledore studied the words and shook his head. "I believe you are right, Sirius," he stated after a moment's thought. "The times are too close to be coincidental. And James has already married Lily. Yes, this is very interesting."

He looked up. "Where are the Potters now?"

Black looked startled. "Oh. They're at home. With Lily pregnant, neither of them wants to go anywhere anymore. Too dangerous, I suppose. The only place she goes now is to that muggle hospital she found a couple months ago, when she got sick."

"And James is with her?" Black nodded and Dumbledore mused quietly to himself.

"Sir, about my coming here," Severus reminded him. The headmaster looked up, confused. "The spy."

"Ah, yes. Please tell us so that we can take appropriate measures to capture this traitor, if you are indeed correct."

"I am correct," Severus defended. "In fact, I am so correct that should I reveal the name of this spy to you, your first reaction will be disbelief." Black shook his head. "Fine. It's Peter Pettigrew."

There was a breath of silence before Black burst. "Peter?" he shouted. "Peter? Peter can't be a traitor; he's too, too-"

"Weak?" Severus suggested darkly. "Small? Timid? Secretive?" Black shook his head, unable to believe Severus. "But, as an Auror, you must realize that Voldemort seeks out exactly those types of people to turn, people who would never be suspected of betrayal."

"Please calm down," Dumbledore said but was ignored.

"But, it can't be Peter," Black argued, somewhat less passionately. "You see, he's here in school. See, let's ask him ourselves. He's right outside the hall." He started for the halls but accidentally tripped on Severus's feet and knocked against the door, opening it wide.

There was a startled squeak in the room and Severus caught the sight of a rat running from the room before it left his sight. "Potter's not the only animagus, is he?" he hissed to the shell shocked Black before rushing out, looking for the rat. Suddenly, everything fit together: all those times he chased Potter's gang across the school, only to catch the tails of fleeing animals before coming to a dead end; their nicknames for each other. Lupin's was easy enough to figure out; he was a werewolf. 'Moony' fit him. 'Prongs,' the stag, 'Wormtail' the rat, and 'Padfoot,' the-

He ran out of breath and still hadn't caught sight of any rat. Black caught up with him a second later, a murderous look in his eyes. "Believe me now?" he asked quietly, and the Auror glared.

"We have to get to James," Black muttered, eyes trailing the floor as if they could somehow pick out the rat's trail. "And Lily. We have to get them to safety."

"Safety?" Severus snorted. "Why? They are in absolutely no harm."

Dumbledore arrived a moment later, his phoenix flying before him and racing down the halls in search of small mammals. He came quick enough to hear Severus's sharp reply and asked, "What do you mean?"

"The prophecy," Severus replied. "It warns the 'dark'--Voldemort--that the Potters' son will be a threat. But then it warns the 'light'--you, professor--that that same son will be a threat as well. It can only mean that this second son's fate is still up in the air; if he's raised to be good, he'll defeat Voldemort; if he's raised wrongly, he'll join Voldemort."

"So won't Voldemort try and kill him?" Black asked. "Try and kill James and Lily so that they never have a son?"

"No. Voldemort wants their son for his ally. He's ordered all his Death Eaters not only to leave the Potters alone, but also to make sure no one else touches them. They're being protected by their worst enemy." Severus's eyes glittered ironically. "I can't wait to see their reaction."

"That will be enough," Dumbledore interrupted, giving both men a hard look. "There is to be no more bickering between you two." Both rolled their eyes. "There is enough fighting with our enemies that we need none between our allies. Severus, I'm sure you have places to be."

Severus narrowed his eyes at the light dismissal but turned on his heels and left. Dumbledore turned to Sirius. "I would like an explanation, if you would."

"Uh, explanation?"

"Yes," and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at the other's discomfort. "I would like to know why you three chose to become unregistered animagus, and why none of you saw fit to inform me of that decision."

"Uh." Sirius looked around in alarm. "Well, wouldn't you know it--I have to be going, sir. Work and all that, you understand."

"Of course."

Sirius grinned at his old headmaster, who smiled back, and took off. His happy mood, however, disappeared quickly once he left the school grounds as the impact of the meeting began to settle in. "James will never believe this."


	3. Chapter II

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Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

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His vision blurred. Without realizing what he was doing, he sat down on the floor of the cave and crossed his legs Indian fashion, the way he had sat as a young boy in the Mojave, waiting for his spirit guide to show itself. Which it had. A black buck, with a sing horn -- black and white and crimson. His hand, scrabbling nervously in the dirt floor of the cave, touched something hard and cold. He picked it up and looked at it. Striated. Black at the bottom, white in the middle, the tip of the horn red as blood.

The Same But Different, Janet Berliner

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Chapter II

Harry James Potter, oldest son of Lily Evans and James Potter, wiped the sweat off his face and smudged the dirt on his cheek. He snuggled deeper into the dry river creek, curling his feet under his legs and praying that the bad men would go away.

He could hear them, creeping through the woods around him, brushing the trees and the leaves and the flowers, killing the plants' lives without a second though as they crushed the forest things beneath their feet. He could hear them, muttering cold phrases, words and vengeance and the cleaning of the magical world.

A twig snapped nearby and Harry's body quivered with fear. Then, some dirt came flying over his head and a body followed, landing with a grunt some feet before Harry. He nearly jumped up in fear, but the murmuring men were too close and would catch him if he moved.

The body, a woman, groaned and got to her feet. She was dressed in complete black with the cowl pulled up to cover her face, the standard dress for Death Eaters. But she was alone and wasn't the reason Harry was so frightened.

It was the men after her.

An explosion tossed up the air and Harry along with it, throwing him to the other side of the creek. The woman screamed, not one of fear but one of anger, and lifted up her hands in the air with a swish. An answering explosion came from the tip of her wand and Harry heard the screams of the men. But it wasn't enough; it never was.

They came from all sides, forming a tightening circle around the witch. Dressed in pure white robes in the forest, they too pulled up their hoods to cover their faces from the atrocity they were about to commit. Harry whimpered and tried to curl up again, tried to curl up away from the sight.

They circled her, moving to dodge her curses and hexes while shooting many times that many back at her. Each hit her with a scream, leaving the scent of burning flesh, the taste of death in the air. Her robes burned so she tore them off, revealing a figure too beautiful to be evil. Maybe she was. Maybe she was the good one, decked in condemning black, while they were the ones to be hunted, dressed in betraying white.

Aurors and Death Eaters. Not so different anymore. There once was a time, his mother had told him, that Aurors were simply good people, trying to make sure the bad people didn't get away. But now, with the dozens and dozens of laws giving the wizards whatever powers they wanted, the world was now a dictatorship where those who spoke against the strictness of it all were labeled as rebels and exterminated. Aurors were the prime force holding Voldemort back from completely taking it all, but they were also the prime force holding him in his current position with power enough to practically own everything anyway.

The curse that hit her the hardest, that caused her to fall, was an unforgivable. Harry recognized the screams of pain that came with possibly the worst of the three, the Cruticus, and clenched his eyes shut, wringing tears from them. He tried to block out her screams but could no more do that than he could make the men leave. Someone cut off the curse and her screams were cut off into hacking sobs.

Harry was crying as well, letting the liquid flow down his cheeks, and he turned a mournful eye to see what had happened, to satisfy his fearful and dreadful curiosity, to witness the 'justice' of the Ministry.

One of those dressed in white stepped forward to confirm that the witch was no longer able to attack--nor able to defend, as his foot crashed into her abdomen. She let out a whimper and tried to curl into a ball, an instinctive reflex, but the kicking didn't stop until she lay stretched out on the canal floor. The man, satisfied, stepped back and another stepped forward.

"Haley Toulon, you are charged with the offence of siding with the Dark Lord, of conspiring and completing a plan to kill innocent wizards and witches, and of enlisting in the armies of the Dark Lord, of arraying yourself in the robes of a Death Eater. Under the Magical Enforcement Code, I am allowed and called to duty to capture and disarm you, to place you under an officer's control, and to hold you under control until your just trial. In that trial, you will be judged on these charges and sentenced."

He motioned and two more white-robed wizards stepped forward, each taking a rough hold on the nearly unconscious witch's arms. "I have already captured and disarmed you, and now place you under the surveillance of these two officers. Are there any objections to the trustworthiness of these two officers?" The forest could have rocked with the silence. "I now move on to the next step in the procedures: your trial."

The witch groaned and one of her officers roughly backhanded her. Three more stepped forward, forming a line that faced her.

"Do you have anything to say in your defense?" 

She was crying. Harry could hear the tears, trickling down her face and hitting the padded floor. 

The speaking officer turned toward them. "You have heard the charges against the captured Death Eater. You have also heard that she says noting in her defense. This silence can be taken as a plead of guilt, under the Magical Enforcement Code. What is your verdict."

"Guilty," said the first.

"Guilty," said the second.

"Guilty," said the third."

The officer turned to the remaining others, the ones who had not said a word in this whole time. "You are witness to the fairness of this trial. Is there any objections to the procedures?" No one spoke. "With no objections, I will proceed to deliver the sentence and the punishment."

Harry's breath caught as the man turned back to the bleeding witch. "You are hereby condemned as guilty of all charges and are now given your sentence. Death."

The word echoed through the forest and even the chirping birds went quiet at the word. A word now so familiar in the magical world, but one that never lost its frightening edge.

Harry whimpered quietly, eyes widening at the word. He nearly passed out when one of the men turned sharply, probably hearing the noise. But the man soon turned back, watching the death decree carried out. He tried to turn away, turn away from the shaking woman who now realized her fate, but his morbid curiosity forced his eyes to watch and ears to listen.

The officer motioned and the two holding the witch's arms left her to fall, walking back along with the three-man jury to their watching positions. The witch coughed violently, spewing red spit on the remaining officer's white robes.

He brushed them off disgustedly, magically cleansing the robes to their pure white. Then he face her, withdrawing his wand slowly, making sure that she saw him. The forest remained quiet, tense, mourning the evil that was man. The leaves moved in the breeze, seeming to Harry like they were trying to escape the dreadful sight, the unnatural taking of a life by another.

"There is no law to how quick or painful your death has to be," the man muttered. "There is no law to how I can kill you, no law dictating me on these matters. There is no law protecting your kind from justice."

"This is not justice," the witch shot back, voice shaking. "This is torture, cruel and sadistic. You are no better than I am."

"You? I am no better than you?" The man sneered and stepped up to grab the witch by her robes, fists clenching the clothing around her neck so that he was choking her without touching skin. She let out a limp scream but he shook her sharply. "I have the power to break your neck, to send you swooning beneath dozens of pain curses, to send you to the ends of the worlds, or to set you free. And you insult me by even thinking to compare us?"

Harry winced as he dropped her, letting her body thump against the floor with a thump. He was shaking with fear.

One of the others stepped up and Harry thought that maybe this one would stop the madness. But all he said was, "This is taking too long. Let's get this over with and report back with the ministry."

Suddenly, Harry couldn't take it anymore. He bolted out of the small shelter of ferns growing out of the creek's wall and leaping into the midst of the Aurors, causing them to first leap back in surprise, their eyes widening at they took in his form. Some moved immediately, casting a catching spell that slid off him like oil on water. What spell could stop the horned stag?

Harry's hooves beat at the dried floor, scattering the ring of Aurors far enough that he could reach the woman lying helplessly on the ground. The Aurors, when they realized what the forest animal was trying to do, shouted out in anger but could not capture him, even then.

The Death Eater realized what he was trying to do, that he was trying to help her, and got to her feet, using the last of her strength to jump onto his back and cling to his thin neck. Harry, in his animagus form, reared up when an Auror got too close and leapt away, using his abnormal swiftness to speed away from the battle scene and soon-to-be death place.

The Aurors could be heard following, but they wouldn't dare shoot him down with a curse. His black colors made him look like something from the death world, a ghost come back to haunt them. Not even they would dare shoot upon a ghost.

Harry, feeling his strength begin to dwindle away, hurried to a safe place in the middle of the forest that only he and the people who helped him, the ones like her, knew about. It was a hidden pit, beneath the roots of a great oak. The others had showed it to him, when he and his family first moved here, telling him that it was his safe place, the safe place that he should go to whenever something bad happened like before. When he reached it, he collapsed, pushing the now-silent Death Eater inside and transforming back to his original form: a boy of eight years.

*

"James, shouldn't Harry be back yet?" Lily asked, worried. She peered out the window of their new home for the hundredth time in the last five minutes, then glanced at the clock in a ritual-like manner that had been done many times before.

James smiled and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest and breathing in the smell of her hair. Strawberries. Wild strawberries. "You know Harry. He's as much at home out there as he is in here. Besides, there's no creature in that forest that would dare hurt a human child. And Remus is supposed to be walking over here today, remember? He's probably already met up with Harry and the two of them are coming back right now." They left the other protection around Harry--the protection that, as much as they didn't like it, they had to see--unsaid.

Lily brought a hand up and nibbled on the tips of her fingernails, a nervous habit she always tried to stop doing, and gave a little "I hope so."

James smiled wider and spun his dainty wife around, making her squeal before she clutched at her round belly in semi-anger.

"James! Don't do that!"

"Why not?" he asked. "Maybe the baby likes to dance." He twirled her again and again in their funny little dance, making her giggle like a teenager again, making her lose the many worry lines that shaped her face as well as his. "Besides, what better way to celebrate our new home than to dance in the kitchen?"

Her face flushed and eyes twinkling, Lily danced along with him, their moves getting wilder and wilder, almost too funny to watch much less do, getting carried away and lost in their love.

Suddenly the baby gave a kick. James had had his hand on her belly and felt the movement, eyes lighting up with wonder. It kicked again and Lily's mouth formed a little O.

"Can you feel that?" she asked breathlessly, guiding his hand over her stretched belly. A small thump met his fingers. "That's his heart."

They stayed like that, her hand over his, feeling the life of their new child, eyes locked and drowning within each other. This was magic at its most primitive--or most evolved form. The unmatched connection two people felt with each other, for each other. The love that stayed lit through the years. The heart gave a thump, and James smiled softly at his redheaded wife, a smile that was answered on her face. He learned forward and kissed her, lips locked together as the little heart beat life beneath their hands.

"James..."

Someone cleared his throat and James nearly dropped Lily in shock. She gave a shriek and grabbed onto his arm. "James, you punk! You can't just go around throwing me on the floor!"

James blushed and immediately grabbed her back up, helping her to her feet. It was rather hard, with her being well along in the pregnancy but James tried to act like it was nothing. She hated being reminded how...different she looked, being pregnant.

Lily snorted and pushed him away playfully, turning to greet their guest. "Remus, how are you?"

Remus rolled his eyes and grinned wolfishly. "Just fine, I suppose. Considering how long it took me to get here. You two are always moving."

James grinned sheepishly and shrugged. "Don't ask me why. Every time we get a new house, Lily goes on her little 'it just doesn't feel like home' romp and we move again."

"James!" Lily shoved him into a chair, then made to sit on him. James made a face and half-pushed her away before grabbing her and sitting her down on his lap. Remus took a seat opposite them.

"Right." Remus shook his head. "One of these days, I'm going to get a straight answer out of you two and have a heart attack."

"Do you really want to know?" Lily asked sincerely.

Remus nodded. "Of course. I'm supposed to be your friend, and friends are supposed to be worried about each other. What kind of person wold I be, as a friend, if I didn't think there was anything wrong with you two moving about twice a year since Harry's birth?"

Lily and James exchanged looks at the frankness of Remus's words and James shrugged.

Lily sighed. "The reason we keep on moving is because of all the... people who come to our house."

"Death Eaters," James explained. "Everywhere we go, they're there. Not doing anything, which is the frightening part-"

"No," Lily argued. "The frightening part is the way they're friends with Harry."

"Woah, woah, woah," Remus paled. "What are you guys saying?"

"Ever since Harry was born, Voldemort has been sending Death Eaters to us, we think as a sort of guard. They don't do anything harmful, and have actually helped us several times. Once, Harry walked off on his own and they brought him back. And once we had some... _trouble_ with the ministry, and some of them distracted the Aurors while the rest helped us get out."

"Are you sure they're Death Eaters?" Remus asked.

James nodded. "They make no secrets about their alliances."

"What do you mean, when you said they were Harry's friends?"

"Just that. It's hard to explain but..." Lily rubbed her forehead. "We try to move to get away from them, but they always find us and sometimes we don't realize that they've found us until we see a few of them outside, playing with Harry. With all this moving, Harry doesn't have any time to make friends and I think he's become attached to them." Her expression showed her horror at the idea.

"We can't really say anything about it either," James continued. "We tried, once, but Harry remembers the time the Aurors tried to make me come with them. They weren't too nice about it. He claims that these Death Eaters have never hurt him, and that they're always there. Sometimes, when we try to talk about this with him, try to convince him to stop being friends..."

"He just convinces us that he's right," Lily continued. "It's the darndest thing but there's no way around it."

"The worst thing is that we've begun to rely on them," James admitted after a moment of silence. "We no longer worry about Harry getting hurt, or Harry getting lost. Just the other day, one of these Death Eaters brought over some cookies and we didn't even think about it before we let Harry have some. It wasn't until later that night that we thought about what might have been in them. There wasn't anything, of course, but we didn't know that."

"This has been going on for eight years?" Remus asked and the two nodded wearily. "And they've done nothing?" Another nod. Remus leaned into his chair, stumped. "Well, don't ask me. I haven't an idea on me."

"We don't know if we should keep trying to avoid them, or simply accept them," Lily whispered.

Remus just shook his head again, then quickly changed the subject as a melancholy mood began to settle over the kitchen. "How's the baby?"

Lily beamed and brought an hand to rub her belly. "Just fine, actually," she bragged. "Only a one more week to go then-"

"Out with little James."

"James?" Remus raised an eyebrow. "You're going to name him after you? Isn't that a bit...dangerous?"

James laughed and waved a hand. "No, naming it after you would be the dangerous thing."

"And did Lily agree to this?"

"I certainly did not!" Lily huffed. "Don't you remember: Harry _James_ Potter? Besides, I thought we had agreed to name him after my father!"

"Well I thought that we named _Harry_ after you father."

"Harry was _your_ father."

"Yea, but... Leonard?" James made a face. "I might stamp the words 'Leonard the Loser' on his forehead when he goes to school."

"Leonard the... You!" Lily shrieked. "You're the one who came up with that at school!"

"Well, someone had to show you that your old boyfriend wasn't exactly classy material," Remus joked.

She turned on him as well. "You helped him, didn't you! All this time, I thought that you were the best person because you'd always comfort me when I came crying because people were laughing at my boyfriend. You were probably laughing the hardest!"

"What a minute. What's this about comforting?"

"Nothing you need to know about, James," Remus reassured him. "Just some midnight study sessions in the library, some stolen fruit from the kitchen, some making-out in old closets-"

"Ha, ha. Very funny, Moony."

"It's the truth, Prongs, and I expect that you better get use to it."

"Now you two knock it off," Lily threatened, waving a finger. "I might just forget about both of you and run off with Leonard just to spite you. And-"

She stopped mid-sentence, face going pale and stretching out in surprise.

Remus straightened. "What's wrong, Lily?"

"M-my water just broke," she replied, awed.

"You're telling me," James joked from beneath her. "My lap's soaked."

"You're water?" Remus jumped out of his chair. "But, you've still got another week-"

"You think I don't know that!" she screamed, getting up and rubbing her belly. "Oh, oh, oh-"

"Let's get you to the hospital," James said, standing up as well.

"No! Someone needs to get Harry."

"I will," Remus volunteered. "You two get to that muggle hospital of yours and I'll get Harry and meet you there." The three split ways and Remus rushed outside to get to the forest while James and Lily rushed outside to get to the hospital.

Just outside the door, a dark-robed figure waited until the three were out of sight, then started to his master to spread the message. It was time.

*

Remus met with Harry while the exhausted child was on his hurried way home, glasses scratched by the tree leaves and forest underbrush.

"Harry, we need to-"

"Uncle Remus, there's this woman how really needs help," Harry interrupted, panicked. "She's hurt really bad."

Remus looked at his 'nephew,' then to the house and then to the woods and sighed. "All right, but we need to go quickly."

Harry didn't wait for Remus to finish before he started back the way he came. Remus had to run to keep up and followed Harry to a small clearing of trees. "She's in here," Harry informed the werewolf, crawling to a stop in front of a great oak. "See, right behind this plant. There's a hole. She's down there."

Remus followed the instructions and, sure enough, found the hole Harry described. He was surprised to see how deep the little pit ran, but that surprise was nothing compared to what awaited him inside the hole.

"A Death Eater," he breathed as he pulled the woman out.

Harry nodded, looking unconcerned with the fact. He pointed out several deep wounds. "They hit her with lots of stuff, but most of this comes from when they kicked her senseless. The other pain was mostly mental."

"Harry, this woman, she's a Death Eater."

"I knoow! That's why we have to go really fast; they're probably searching the woods right now."

"They who?"

"The Aurors, of course," Harry replied sarcastically. "Who else could do this?"

Remus was taken back at the bitterness in Harry's voice but a popping noise filled the air.

Several more Death Eaters, over two dozen, had just apparated. One stepped forward, sparing Remus a withering look before speaking to Harry. "That was very stupid," he chided. "They're searching now and any minute will sense the anti-apparation shields your parents put up."

"I couldn't very well just let them kill her," Harry replied with the same tone of voice.

"This was your safe place," another spoke. "Only you. Our master won't be pleased to see that you've abused this place to save someone as unimportant as she is."

"He'll probably kill her," another observed dryly.

"He won't, will he?" Harry asked, looking to the first.

The Death Eater shrugged as if to say 'it's not my place to say.'

"H-Harry, we need to get going," Remus tried to act unafraid but he was shaking all over.

"Not until someone promises to take care of her," Harry said defiantly. "And tell your master that it wasn't her fault. She tried to kill the Aurors, and I think she got a few."

"For your sake, we'll tell him she killed a dozen," one Death Eater answered, almost lovingly. "He won't be so angry then."

Harry smiled and stood, Remus standing as well. Two Death Eaters came up, helping the unconscious witch up and disapparating with them. Then, all the rest left save for the first. The Death Eater watched Harry a moment before saying, "Remember that we were always there for you, Harry," before leaving.

When all had left, Harry started back for the house but Remus stopped him. "We need to go to the hospital. You mom's having her baby."

As they got ready to apparate, Remus couldn't help but think that not even Death Eaters could stay long around Harry without being changed for the better.


	4. Chapter III

****

Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

__

Despite the fact that Night Sun possessed considerable power and wealth, for most of her life her soul had been completely empty. A cavernous darkness lived inside her--as it had all the women in her family. Her mother and older sister had both spoken of that darkness as if it were a terrible ghostly lover; a specter whose shadowy arms often tightened around them until they felt so alone they wished to die.

People of the Silence, Kathleen O'Neal Gear ad W. Michael Gear

****

Chapter III

They got there just as the newborn's first cry ripped through the air. Actually, they had arrived earlier, but nothing was happening and James wanted them to go get Sirius. So Remus took Harry and the two left on an hour's hunt for the lost godfather--a hunt that Harry hadn't really been too excited to go on, considering he didn't know his godfather too well--only to give the job up for lost and returning to the hospital almost too late.

"You did that on purpose," Remus panted to James as the three ran down the halls to Lily's room. Harry was cradled, fast asleep in his father's arms, glasses reflecting the hospital lights overhead. "Tried to sneak away from Lily right now."

"'Course," James panted back, skidding as he took a turn and barely missed hitting a nurse. She screamed then waved a fist at his retreating back, swearing revenge. "I haven't forgotten Harry's birth. _I _don't want to be in that room when she starts screaming."

They turned another corner, reaching the pregnancy ward, able to hear Lily's screams from there: "James Potter, you better get in here, you freak! I'm going to rip your head off! Right off-aaaaaaaaaaa!" From one room, a nurse came flying out, slamming against the door so hard that he ripped off the hinges. Lily's screams became louder and her pain was beginning to magically manifest itself.

James took a deep breath then, with the stiffness of a soldier knowing he's about to die, he handed his son to his best friend and marched off. 

"Good luck!" Remus shouted at his back. James only waved, stepping over the nurse and into the room. Remus chuckled and looked down at the sleeping body in his arms. "Let's get something to eat."

He walked away as the hall echoed with screams:

"Push, Lily, push!"

"I am pushin-aaaaa! I hate you, I hate you, I haaaaaaaa-"

"Lily, let go of my hand, let go of my haaaaaa-"

"AAAAAAAAAA-

"AAAAAAAAAAAA-"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter. It's a boy."

*

"Harry, be careful with your brother."

Nine-year old Harry Potter nodded absently, not really hearing his mother's words until, she walked out of the kitchen, one hand on her hips, the other pointing a wooden spoon at him in what was supposed to be a threatening stance. "Did you hear me?"

"Be careful," Harry repeated, still not really listening.

Lily rolled her eyes but went back inside the kitchen of her new apartment, checking every few moments through the window to make sure that her children on the balcony were still fine. Harry was almost carelessly holding his year-old brother, Leonard Torrent Potter, but even Lily knew better. Harry was almost more careful with Leo than she was.

At first, she'd been worried that Harry would feel threatened by the baby's presence, or that the age gap between the two would be too much for either child to handle. But Harry and Leo got along just fine with each other, almost as if they spoke in a silent language or knew something that everyone else had forgotten about siblings.

She gave them another check and went back to baking her cookies, mercilessly pummeling the soft dough with her wooden spoon. "James," she called over her shoulder. "We really need some electricity! I hate doing this by hand."

"You really don't have to do it at all," James called back from the small living room, feet propped up among different children toys while he read the paper. "We have all that wonderful magic that's just waiting to be used-"

"Yea, well," Lily looked down at her bowl, showering it with a look of frustration. "My mother says that using magic in food gets a person sick."

James laughed, putting the paper down and taking two steps, one to get out of the living room, past all the toys, and another to step through--instantaneously--the hallway, dining room, front room, and into the kitchen. "You're mother's a squid, your father, too. Why, they couldn't be more squibbish without being positively muggle. What would she know about magic?"

"I guess you're right," Lily admitted slowly. She smirked and summoned her wand. "Anyway, it's cleaner this way."

"That's the spirit." James gave her a quick kiss before glancing outside. "You still have Harry working on that school stuff?"

Lily nodded, spelling her food to perfection. "Yea. I don't want him to get behind, what with all our moving."

"Behind?" James shook his head. "Last time I checked, he was working with seventh-year material. He doesn't need to worry about anything when he gets to Hogwarts, except getting bored." He smiled. "Remember when we got him his wand."

"Oh don't start!" she threw her hands in the air. "I don't think he ever got over that. All those people staring, like it was something unusual."

"Hmm." James walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Stop that." She tried to bet his hands away but he just growled and picked her off her feet, planting wet kisses along her neck as she giggled.

"How about another one?"

"So soon, James?"

"Well, yea. I was thinking. There really was no reason to wait between Harry and Leo, and there's no reason to wait now."

"James..." Lily sighed. "Of course there's a reason to wait. There's a war going on right now, and we've been hiding out in Muggle Europe, moving too fast to be a part of it."

"So? Other people are still having children."

"James..."

"Are we going to check out that house today?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject. She could sense the hurt in his voice. "This place is too small for all of us." James had always wanted a house full of kids. "And we can't have any pets here." A house full of noise, laughter, fun... love. "And boy, the neighbors never sleep." A house like his had never been. "You'd think that the fun never ends over there."

"James..." Lily grabbed him around the waist, burrowing her face in his chest. "I want another child too."

He froze. "Really? You're not just saying that?"

She nodded. "A girl, though. Someone I can sit in my lap and tie bows in her hair. Someone who has red hair for a change."

"R-really?"

"Of course really." She gently tapped his nose. "You think I'm just making this up?"

"Maybe. I mean, who'd ever want a redheaded girl? The last redheaded girl I knew wound up with the stupidest kid at school."

Lily smiled and just let him hold her. "Let's go check out that house," she murmured. "Right now. I want to go anywhere, and this place is too stuffy."

"In a minute," James whispered back. "In a minute."

Harry, standing in the doorway with Leo trying to keep his balance beside him, gave his parents one look then carefully went back out onto the balcony. He pushed the moving boxes against the walls and climbed up, turning back to say, "No, Leo. You can't come up here," when Leo tried to follow. The baby tried anyway and fell back on his diapered bottom, letting out a pained cry and rubbing his eyes.

Harry hurried back down and gave Leo a hug, wiping away the tears, but Leo wouldn't be satisfied. Harry sighed and dutifully removed his glasses--his brother's favorite toy--and handed them to Leo, then left the babe alone as he climbed back up the crates. Leo gave a whimper, wiping at his golden eyes again and took a few shaky steps to the crate but stayed on the ground, watching his big brother climb up. He held the black glasses awkwardly, one drool-covered hand sliming the spectacles.

Harry reached the top and looked over the balcony wall. They were several stories up and he could make out the traffic moving far beneath him, hardly blurs to his naked eyes. If he fell now, there'd be no one to catch him. He gave a sigh then looked around to the balcony beside him.

The people were having a party again. The noise was muted, but whenever someone walked outside and opened the doors, the noise splashed out like a barely contained tiger. He loved it.

"Isn't this a bit dangerous?"

Harry turned and smiled at the hooded figure that sat on the balcony wall. "Not as dangerous as that."

The Death Eater seemed to shrug helplessly at the accusation and went silent. Leo fell on his bottom again, shocked at the sudden appearance of the person. He blubbered some baby-words, scooting back away towards the doors inside the house and dragging Harry's glasses with him.

"You're moving again?"

Harry nodded. "It's too small here, and they saw you guys again just a few days ago. I told you that they liked to walk around the house at night." He paused, letting the statement sink in before adding, "Plus there's this woman a few doors down. Her name's Arabella Figg, and I heard mum and dad say she's a witch."

The Death Eater nodded. "Not just any witch. Arabella Figg is an Auror."

"But mum knew her from school and says that Mrs. Figg's a really nice witch."

"Maybe. Most Aurors aren't, you know."

"Yea, I know." Harry looked down at his hands, then looked past then down at the street again.

"Aren't you scared that you'll fall?"

He shook his head. "No."

"No one will catch you."

"I know."

Leo hiccuped.

"I think that we're going soon," Harry confided. "Mum was saying we were, but dad wants to stay just a bit longer. But she'll probably want to leave soon anyway-"

"Harry, who are you talking to?"

Harry looked up from his hands in surprise as the balcony doors opened and Lily stepped out. She had been leaned over Leo, picking him up, and now turned to him, letting out a gasp. "Harry! What are you doing up there! You might fall! And without your glasses-"

He jumped down quickly, as if that were some apology, and scuttled inside. Lily smacked his head lightly as he passed, holding out another hand with his slimed glasses that he grabbed. "You've got a crazy son, James."

"I know." James grinned as Harry came inside. Lily followed, shutting and locking the door behind her. He grabbed Harry up and started tickling him, making the nine-year old scream with laughter. Leo started laughing, clapping his chubby hands together.

Lily shook her head and purposely walked past the two, going to the front door. "I'll be outside, once you two are finished."

"We're going to check out that new house, the one I told you about," James said to his son, following Lily.

Harry smiled. "I know."

*

Lily "ooohhh"ed and "ahhh"ed all she could when they saw the house. A perfect little home, with a white picket fence and even a small pup, barking at them as they passed, a long white rope tying it to one of the pickets. The tour guide/real estates dealer, a short and balding man, apologized for that, saying that the previous owners had forgotten the poor thing. James didn't mind a bit.

Leo didn't want to go inside, so Harry stayed out to watch him and they played with the dog while their parents went inside to inspect the rooms. It was a five-room house, two-story high with a walkout basement just waiting to be turned into an office. The kitchen was gorgeous, the dining room came completely furnished, and the bedrooms all had distinctive personalities. Had Lily been someone who swore, she'd swear that the house had been made for her family.

It had been dark when they first came, and the sun was sinking fast, so Harry brought Leo inside despite the baby's loud protests. He didn't really want to come in either, but Lily didn't want them to get bitten by mosquitoes.

"As you can see," the guide was saying as Harry settled himself on his mother's lap. She patted his hair softly. Leo was asleep on the floor. "The house comes completely furnished--except for the kitchen. You'll have to buy your own plates."

"Why is that, again?" James asked. "I'm sorry, it's just...well, it's not every day that a house like this goes onto the market, complete with perfect furniture and at a price this affordable."

"Well, sir. The truth is that the dog is not the only thing that the owners left behind. It turns out that the previous owners were actually serious criminals, getting themselves in deeper and deeper trouble with the law. And since they couldn't bring anything to jail, nor did they have the money to actually keep any of this.." he cleared his throat. "The reason everything's so cheap is because, simply put, the police won't let us sell this place for anything more. This house is mostly stolen merchandise that no one has stepped forward to claim. We sell it expensive, and the cops bust us for selling stolen merchandise. They don't want this on their hands, however, that's why we get to sell it at all."

"James, let's just take it," Lily whispered. "It's the best deal I've ever seen."

James looked at the deed on the table and, after a moment of hard thought, extended his hand. "Alright, we'll take it."

The dealer looked pleased but as he reached his hand out to shake, he caught a look at the time on his watch. "Oh my, it really is late. I'm sorry for keeping you up for so long."

"It's nothing," Lily assured him, but Harry was fighting the urge to yawn.

"No, no I'm the irresponsible one," the man insisted, and Harry felt a jolt of shock when he realized that he'd seen the man from somewhere. "Here, let me treat you to some pop. It's the least I could do."

Leo had waken up and began to cry. Harry turned to Lily and tugged at her shirt. "Mummy."

"Not now, sweety," Lily said with a smile.

"We'll take you up on that offer," James answered.

"Splendid." The man clapped his hands together and started from the room. "Let's just go to the kitchen."

"Mummy!" Harry tugged more insistently as a really bad feeling came over him. Leo began to bawl and James picked him up with a smile, trying to comfort the baby.

"What is it?"

"The dog," Harry pointed out the first thing he noticed. "It's not barking anymore."

Lily sighed then ruffled her son's thick hair. "It's probably asleep."

"But mummy, it was awake a second ago," Harry argued.

"Harry..."

"If you're so worried, why don't you go make sure it's all right," James suggested.

Harry took a look at the door, down the hall. It was dark outside, and the night seemed to shine in from all the windows. He clutched at Lily's leg and shook his head. "I don't want to go alone."

"Harry?"

"I'm scared."

James shifted Leo from one arm to the other, sharing a concerned look with Lily. Harry was never scared. He was a person who went out alone, who made friends with Death Eaters, who could stand from the highest building and not be afraid of falling. Leo showed no signs of stopping.

"Uh, I guess I'll have to refuse your offer," Lily called out awkwardly to the dealer, who gave them a sympathetic smile. "We really need to get out children to bed."

It seemed to Harry that the man was very sad as he nodded. "Oh, of course. Well, go on. Right outside, then."

"You'll be here tomorrow?" James asked as they walked down the hall, still trying to shush Leo. The man didn't answer at first, just stood there with that sad smile.

"If you are," he finally said, as Lily opened the door. "If you are."

"We're out, Harry," Lily informed her son. "Let's go take a look at the dog."

It wasn't in the front yard, so they walked around on the grass, following its rope around to the side of the house. The rope ran on forever and ever to Harry. He was beginning to feel that he didn't want to see the end of it when Lily pointed out the pile of white fur near the back of the house. "Look, Harry. See, he's fine. He's just sleeping. Even puppies need to sleep."

Harry didn't move when Lily started to move. He stared at the little pile, tied to the white leash, unable to remove his eyes from the little red spot at the end of the rope.

Leo had finally quieted down, not because he was any calmer but because he had exhausted himself.

"Harry?" James handed the hiccuping Leo to his wife and nudged his other son. "Come on, it's pretty late. You want me to carry you?"

"Daddy, what's that?"

"What?"

Harry pointed, his finger shaking, to the red blob on the white fur and white leash, the red blob that Harry could now see on the white bricks of the house, and the white picket fence.

"I don't see anything, Harry," James replied softly. "Come on, it's late-"

"James!" Lily hissed. "I-I stepped in something."

Harry was now shaking all over so James lifted his light son and walked to his now scared wife. "What is it honey?"

"I-I think it's blood." She tried to be quiet but Harry heard and gave a quiet whimper, realizing what the red blob everywhere was. Lily immediately tried to comfort him. "No, no Harry, it's alright. Come on James, I don't want to be here anymore." Leo gurgled tiredly in Lily's arms, waving his arms about.

They walked around to the front of the house again and started to go through the fence when the front door slammed shut, making everyone jump. James turned but it was only the dealer, locking up after them.

He looked up. "Are you alright?" James smiled shakily and nodded. "That's good. It's not good to be out this late in Godric's Hollow."

Lily's breath caught in her throat and James tensed. "W-what did you say?" James asked.

"Godric's Hollow," the dealer replied easily, shrugging.

Lily glanced up at the street sign, not too far away. The lamppost was swinging in the light breeze, casting moving shadows on the street's name. _Swing_ The street was Duke's Circle _Swing_ and the light moved away.

"It's not really safe here, what with the Dark Lord waiting around the corners."

__

Swing The street was Duke's Circle _Swing_ and the light moved away.

"I think it's the name. Godric's Hollow. What heir of Slytherin would let a place with such a name go unwatched?"

__

Swing Duke's Circle. _Swing Swing _Duke's Circle. _Swing Swing Swing Swing _Duke's-

Lily let out a gasp as the name changed, the lettering uncurling from its old script and slithering into new words, new meanings.

-Godric's Hollow._ Swing_ Lily felt the blood rushing through her skin, down her neck, leaving her brain nerveless. _Swing _Godric's Hollow. It had been their home before they had Harry, before the Death Eaters had started showing up. _Swing _It was their home _Swing_ were everything had begun _Swing _and now she knew it was where everything would end. _Swing_

The words changed back 

"Who are you?" James shouted, pushing his wife and children behind him.

The dealer shook his head sadly and looked up, tears in his eyes. "Don't you recognize me, James?" he asked. When James showed no reaction, the man looked to Harry. "Harry, you know me, right? You remember playing out in the fields, in the forest, when your parents weren't watching-"

"Don't talk to my son," James hissed, pulling Harry completely from the man's sight. Lily's eyes widened and the man looked at her hopefully.

"P-Peter?"


	5. Chapter IV

****

Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

__

From somewhere off came a heavy, muffled thud. The train shuddered, and Osborn was suddenly being thrown violently sideways towards a young priest who, second before, had been reading a paper. Then the car they were in was turning over and they both fell. It kept rolling, like some horrendous carnival ride. Glass crashing and the wrenching of steel meshed with human screams...Osborn rocketed backward and everything stopped.

The Day After Tomorrow, Allan Folsom

****

Chapter IV

"P-Peter?"

He nodded bashfully, letting his old personality shine through. "You remember me, Lily? I had thought that you would be the first to forget-"

"Forget?" she repeated shrilly. "How can I forget the friend who betrayed us, who tried to kill us? Who tried to kill my child?"

Peter looked hurt. "Kill Harry? No, I would never do that, Lily. I was always there, always there to make sure that Harry wouldn't get hurt." Neither responded and he viciously added, "I was there when even Sirius wasn't-"

"Don't talk about Sirius," James cut in brutally.

"Why not?" Peter shot back. "Were is he, your 'best friend'?" He sneered. "Where's Harry's godfather? I doubt Harry would recognize the man anymore. Oh sure, he's an Auror. Let's give him a break why don't we. Did you know that on Harry's birthday last year, the reason Sirius couldn't come was because he was too busy torturing innocent people accused of being Death Eaters? And two birthdays before that, he was involved in an Auror bombing of a family's house, _while their children were in bed!"_

"No, no," Lily breathed. "Aurors would never do that. Only Death Eaters-"

"You've been out of it. Didn't you admit it to yourselves? You two have been moving too fast to understand what's happened to the world. Aurors have total control now, and if you don't believe that they abuse their powers just ask your son."

Harry's body whipped awake behind his father, nearly tripping both of them. The family had backed out now, moving slowly, as if the slowness would keep Peter from doing anything rash. The Death Eater pulled out his wand almost sorrowfully, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry, James. I never wanted it to be like this. I would've been better if..."

Peter ended there, with his wand out, pointing at his two formally-best friends and the two children between them. James's face hardened and he pulled out his own wand, Lily copying him. "Here, Harry," she whispered, handing her older son Leo. "I need you to take him-"

"I'm afraid that neither of your children are going anywhere, Mrs. Potter."

As James and Lily jumped, Peter bowed his head. Harry, shaking, took his brother in his arms and slowly turned.

A man stood, surrounded by his group of Death Eaters all dressed in such familiar robes. He was extremely tall, much taller than Harry, and his clothing seemed to suck in the light from the lamppost he stood under. Just looking at him made Harry feel such a wave of terror that he had never felt before. But what frightened him the most were the green eyes, tinted with red, on the man's face--those were his mother's eyes, his own eyes, eyes so green that everything around them looked colorless in comparison.

James took in a quick breath, a growling sound coming from the back of his throat. Lily lost her motherly feel, picking up her adopted battle-psyche. The power the pair let go was enough to transform the simple breeze into a full-rush tornado, tussling the leaves and yanking up at the tree roots. Several Death Eaters around their master threw themselves to the ground, trying to keep themselves connected to the earth below. Harry instinctively strained his muscles but the wind didn't touch him.

Voldemort grinned and, with a hand's wave, banished the windstorm. James and Lily glared at him.

"I would like to be impressed, or at least surprised at that little power show," he said, taking long and lazy steps away from the light and into the shadows where only his green eyes reflected back. "But I rather expected such a thing. You two are, after all, the top members of the Order, and then there's your interesting blood lines."

He paused. "What was it that brought you so low that you felt like you could interact with, much less love, a direct descendant of Godric Gryffindor?"

Now it was Lily's turn to growl. "I'm not a Slytherin. My family and I disowned that name a long time ago."

"Silly girl. You cannot disown your heritage." Voldemort laughed but the sound echoed in the night, making it impossible to tell which shadow he had made his home. "You cannot disown the power that comes with a simple name."

"What do you want from me?" she screamed, turning vainly, trying to locate him and keep her children away from his sight. "What do you want from my family? We've done as you asked, we've stayed out of the war. My entire family has moved from the continent, and you've yet to keep your part of the bargain. You've let to leave us alone."

"Did you really think that I would let my _dear_ cousin go with such simple terms?"

"No," James snorted. "But we had hoped."

Voldemort appeared from a few feet's distance and Lily shrieked, jumping away and momentarily exposing her children. "Imagine," he purred, "the power your children must have. Mixing the pure blood of Salazar Slytherin with the pure blood of Godric Gryffindor."

"Leave them alone!" James yelled, jumping in Voldemort's way with his wand ready.

"Look, he even has our family eyes," Voldemort continued, pointing to Harry. "Salazar's most prominent feature, the trait that marked his heirs. But that hair and that face. Definitely more to the Gryffindor's side. A shame, really." Harry seemed to have trouble breathing as those red-tinted eyes studied him, but the eyes moved on to the young child in Harry's arms, body turning to see past James's obstructing body.

"Ahh, and this is your second son?" he asked, eyes locked onto Leo. The baby weakly blinked his eyes. "I can only imagine what power _he_ must hold." Voldemort snapped back and grinned his infamous smile. "I have come, cousin, to relieve you of your children."

"W-what?" Lily asked weakly, nearly stumbling back.

"I'm afraid that I've also come to relieve you of your husband. I really can't have a true Gryffindor running around the place, threatening my power."

There wasn't even a warning. Voldemort's wand was out and, with a swish, he sent James flying back onto the picket fence. Lily gave a shout of surprise but found herself paralyzed, frozen in place to watch as her children were taken and her husband was murdered. Voldemort snapped his fingers and ropes appeared, tying the children's bodies tightly, preventing any escape.

But they weren't of the Order for no reason.

James was back on his feet, wiping the dirt off his nose, and waved his own wand, sending the Death Eaters who had come forward to capture his children back the way they'd come. Lily broke free of the paralysis and sent a ball of blue fire with them, the fireball exploding amidst the crowd of Death Eaters. She hurried and dissolved her children's bonds and shouted "Run, Harry, run!" before going back to battle.

Night was gone, dissolved away as magical lights from the battle lit the sky. James share a split second look with his wife, who nodded, and took up an offensive stance. He raised his hands and shouted out a curse, waving his wand. An acid web shot out, sticking and burning and killing any Death Eater it touched.

Lily crouched at his feet and closed her eyes, wand moving instinctively between the fingers of one hand as the other hand traced a protective ward in the ground. The ward, once completed, lit up with a bang, highlighting the stars, and engulfed the Potters in a violet light. The dozens of curses sent their way were halted by the ward, frozen in time, standing just beyond Lily's reach. Her eyes opened and narrowed. She stood and stretched out her hands, screaming old magic hymns and reaching into her birth power. The curses shimmered and shot back into the wands that had called them. The wands shook and exploded.

Voldemort leaned against a fence, watching the battle with amusement. His Death Eaters threw curse after curse, never learning that the defensive ward--plus the magic Lily had added--would only deflect and redirect any magic they sent. He waved his wand and a horrific thud struck the violet ward, making it shudder then break like a million pieces of glass. Lily screamed, ducking the expiring magic and was cuffed in the side by a hex. James automatically reached for her and was pounded by a triple-charm that knocked him to the ground.

Voldemort mouth pulled up in his skull grin. "Not too quickly, my servants," he reminded them. "The night's still young."

Harry blinked as a bull-out war was waged between the gravely outnumbered Potters and Voldemort, bright lights setting off against the night-dimmed sky but took off, grabbing Leo with him. He couldn't understand why his friends were fighting his parents, but now wasn't the time to ask questions.

Minutes passed. He had been here before--he _knew_ it. Leo let out a panicked cry and Harry hurriedly shushed him, pulling his chubby body up into a hugging position as he ran. 

The farther he ran, the louder the noises became. It was like he was running into the battle even as he ran away. Harry felt his wand poking his stomach and his cheeks burned. He was running when he could defend himself? Why?

Leo let out another cry and Harry tripped over something unseen, landing hard on the ground with his chin scrapped against the pavement. Leo screamed in pain, lying under Harry and slowly being crushed by the weight. His pain-filled cries drowned out everything else and Harry, despite himself, felt tears coming down his cheeks as well.

"No, don't worry Leo," Harry cried, getting to his knees and tucking his brother in his arms. The baby wouldn't stop crying, getting louder instead. "No, please don't cry Leo." Harry sniffed, wiping at Leo's face. "P-please don't cry. E-everything's going, going to be all right. Just don't cry!" His brother had no intentions of listening to him and Harry started whimpering as well. Hot blood ran from his cut chin and as soon as Harry felt it, he nearly screamed. Images of the red blobs came back, of the strangled puppy.

He had come around in a circle. The houses, the empty houses all for sale, let their windows glare at him accusingly, accusing him of being stupid. He had come right back where he had started. His parents were in front of him, and Lily was on the ground while James still fought. Many of his friends lay stretched out on the ground as well, no longer moving.

Were they his friends? Harry shook, moving against the fence of the house next to the one they'd been in. But as he moved, getting to the side of the house, Harry realized he could see the still-motionless puppy through the white picket fence and went back to the front of the house, shaking even more.

The man with his mother's eyes, with his eyes, was watching everything and as Harry saw him, the man turned and looked at him. At that moment, the man turned back to the battle and his lips moved and time froze and Harry felt like he was going to die.

The green light slapped against James, sending him spiraling back against the fence and leaving a dark stain against the whiteness of it. It looked, for a moment, like he was going to be all right. His back stiffened and he gave a little jolt and his mouth open wide.

But his mouth opened wide to let out a ear-piercing scream, the sound of his soul fighting to stay in his body while the magic fought to pull it out. The green light slapped him again and the scream became louder. The light became greater, momentarily blinding the entire area like a nuclear attack. When it was gone, James collapsed against the wall. He had lost the fight for his life.

"Daaaad!" Harry screamed.

"Jaaaaaamess!!" Lily screamed, getting to her knees. "NOOOO!" The Death Eaters stopped, having received no orders to attack her. She scrambled to her feet, unsettling bits of pavement and dirt that scattered onto the sidewalk, matching the sounds of her breaking heart inside her.

"No, James no!" Lily grabbed his face, forcing his chin up. "You can't die on me. No James. You can't... you can't leave me alone." Her voice cracked. "James... ple-please don't leave me alone. I can't do this alone."

"Foolish girl," Voldemort scoffed, completely disregarding her sorrow. "You knew better." She didn't respond, her head bent in crushing loss. "Knew better than to be involved in our enemy's heirs-"

"The bad blood between our families died with our forefathers," Lily whispered, tone dead. "It's your fault... THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!!!"

She leaped up in the air and jumped at him, fingers pulled back like sharp daggers. "I'LL KILL YOU-"

Voldemort threw her aside easily, then stepped over her and walked to her children with complete ease.

Lily laid on the pavement a moment, completely worn out, until she heard Harry's hoarse warning: "S-stay away from me."

"Harry... " Lily got to her feet drunkenly. "Voldemort, get away from my children."

"Don't get in my way, cousin," Voldemort replied, still on his way to Harry and Leo. "You haven't the power to stop me--as your husband's death just proved."

Lily let out a broken sob and collapsed. "P-please, I'll do anything. Just don't take away my children. D-don't take away the last thing I have left-"

"If you think your whining will have any effect on me, you're quite mistaken," Voldemort informed her coldly. He turned to his standing Death Eaters. "I suspect that the ministry will be here sooner or later. Gather up the living and burn the dead. We needn't leave too great a clue as to what happened here." They bowed and did as told. "Two of you will take and care for these children, of course. And I believe my cousin will also need another caretaker, one who will be kind enough as to inform her what she's missed these many years of my rule."

"Yes master," three Death Eaters murmured, stepping forward.

"You won't touch my children!" Lily vowed, closing her eyes. "I swear it, if it's the last thing I do: you'll never touch my children."

"How touching." Voldemort turned to face the fallen witch. "You're exhausted, cousin. Save your energy for another time because as much as I'd hate to kill the last female of my family, I haven't the patience to deal with you right now."

Lily ignored the taunt and lay back on the ground, stretching her legs and arms out as far as they could go. Soundless letters escaped her lips, forming them into words. Her blood leaked from multiple cuts, enough to tie her curse together. Voldemort paused to watch her, slightly entertained by this last defiance.

"What are you going to do?" he teased mercilessly. "Bleed to death on the ground? Because that's all you'll be able to do."

Lily squinted her eyes to glare at him, not responding as she finished the curse. She lifted a wounded arm and pointed at him, eyes glowing a heartless green. Her hooked elbow ran parallel to the ground beneath her, her entire body was tense and the very air seemed to be sucked towards her. Suddenly, the air spit away from her, slamming into the surprised Voldemort. 

An unearthly scream filled the air. The winds ripped and tripped in the air, blinding him, and he could hear Lily chanting the words to an old spell, voice turned into a horrific drone. He blinked and lifted his arms up, trying to see what she was doing, but the winds died down as suddenly as they appeared, leaving no visible effect.

Voldemort looked down to see Lily lying on the floor, eyes glazed over and unblinking, mouth frozen in a smile of revenge, and chest unmoving. Uncertain, he walked up to her and lightly kicked her. No response. Voldemort studied the dead body of his cousin a moment longer before turning away and walking to the children.

Leo, the second son he'd been waiting for, had finally shut up while the other son, Harry, appeared to be in shock. Voldemort's eyes ran over the babe's body hungrily. This was the second son spoken of in the prophecy, the one who would be his future ally. The Death Eaters had done most of what he'd commanded, clearing away the injured as the smell of burning skin scented the air. Most had apparated away already.

The full moon began to tilt back in the sky, falling down again as the night passed by. Voldemort's duel with the Potters had lasted longer than expected.

"I thought I told you to collect the children," he stated coolly. "Was there a problem in such simple directions?"

"N-no, master," Peter stuttered, bowing low. "I-I had thought, since you and Lily-"

He was interrupted by Harry's loud sob. The Death Eaters all froze, turning to watch as Harry ran over and collapsed on his dead mother's body. Some turned away, feeling half-guilty.

Voldemort glared and reached a hand down to fiercely yank the boy up by his shirt. "You'll learn to shut up in my presence," he hissed. Harry sniffed and sobbed louder, fighting against Voldemort to reach his mother. "Stop that. Stop that now-"

One of his hands brushed against Harry's skin and he howled in pain, yanking it back as it smoked. Bits of the hand's skin charcoaled and drifted off like ash. Unbelievingly, Voldemort brought the hand up to his face, staring with wide eyes as the last of the skin crinkled off, showing soot-covered bones. Every nerve had been burned away along with his skin so his eyes took in the damage while his brain registered no pain.

Harry threw himself at Voldemort, knocking him down, before racing back to his mother. "M-mum? Mummy, please wake up. Mummy!"

Voldemort still stared at his dissolved hand in shock, unable to comprehend the meaning behind its smoking stump, unable to understand what had happened--what had happened _painlessly_. He could see the damage, yet feel no pain so looking at his hand only gave him an unnatural feeling. Harry started crying, bending his head over Lily's body as he shoulders were racked with sobs.

Without warning, Harry stopped his crying. "Y-you killed my parents," he whispered, head still bowed. "B-but... I'LL KILL YOU!"

"Silly boy," Voldemort tried to let out a bark of laughter, hiding his hand from his Death Eaters' view. "You honestly think that you'll be the one who'll stop me?"

Harry stumbled to his feet and fumbled at his pockets, pulling out a thin wand. "Y-you'll pay for what you did," he promised, face as white as the moon. "I swear it-"

"Put that ridiculous thing away and give up before I lose my patience with you like I did with your mother," Voldemort ordered angrily. 

"Stupefy!"

The stunning spell hit Voldemort in the back, making him give a lurch but remained conscious. The man whipped around and glared at Harry, advancing slowly. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked in low, angry tones.

Harry's face was screwed up in concentration and he shouted out another more powerful curse. It smacked into Voldemort's side and the dark wizard jumped forward with a growl of rage, bringing his stump to strike Harry's face but as soon as the skin contacted, his arm began to burn like the first.

Voldemort pulled up the robe's sleeve and stared wide-eyed at the smoking bits. "Wh-what is this?" he bellowed.

"M-master?" The Death Eaters backed up as Harry stood up and faced Voldemort again, ready to attack again.

"Silence!" Voldemort pointed at Harry with his other hand. "You will pay for that, boy! No one attacks Lord Voldemort and lives to tell!" He pulled his wand out and pointed it at the nine-year old, shouting "Avada Kedavra!" at the same time Harry yelled "Expilarmpos!"

The two lines of magic dived towards each other and collided midway between the two wizards. For a second, the two became a golden line of one, connecting the two wands together but then Harry's arm began to shake and he cried aloud as the spell was broken. His spell was nullified in the wake of the Death Curse and Voldemort's green light shot forward, hitting the oldest living Potter upside the head.


	6. Chapter V

__

"That's something that you'll have to tell me, Comrade Rodin," returned the strong, deep voice of the American President. "Several minutes ago, I received a call from Admiral Miller, Commander of our Pacific Fleet. I'm afraid that he had some disturbing news. Less than an hour ago, a Soviet IL-38 relay plane ditched in the Pacific near Midway Island. A single survivor was picked up by one of our helicopters and transferred to the Carrier John F. Kennedy_, where he is at present."_

Counterforce, Richard P. Henrick

****

Chapter V

The neighborhood echoed quietness. Harry turned in his sleep, trying to escape a dream:

He was walking down a path, much younger--perhaps four or five. All around him was darkness. His skin seemed to glow, pale as it was. 

"Hello," he yelled out, his voice echoing then splitting and bouncing back in different tones, and was answered. Crickets called out to him, birds sang their songs, and the forest was brimming with life. Ferns reached out to touch him, leaves brushed at his hair like a mother's fingers, and everything was right. 

He kept walking until he came to a small clearing and suddenly everything was silenced. Harry looked around but the silence didn't bother him. Neither did the indistinct hissing in the background, sounding like a thousand war drums from far away. His forehead started to hurt, but that too was normal in this dream. He walked into the clearing and saw two small boxes, gold and green, locked with silver latches.

Without thinking about it, he reached out a hand and opened the latches, lifting the silver locks and opening the small boxes. A thousand butterflies flew into his face, leaving small kisses with their bright wings. He raised his arms, the quietness becoming alarming even as the hissing became louder and he knew with a certainty that his parents were dead.

He knew with a certainty that he was supposed to be dead too. A thousand snakes slid into the clearing, opening their jaws to strike, their fangs dripping with poison that set the forest on fire--

Harry jerked awake to the sounds of birds chirping and for a second he thought he was still dreaming. It was still very early, too early for the sun to be out though the eastern sky was beginning to brighten. It was probably around three or four, given the early rising of the sun in the summer. He slowly raised his head, a furious pounding echoing in his skull. He brought a hand up, touching his fingers to his forehead. They came in contact with hot liquid and when he pulled them back to look at them, he found them covered in rich blood.

Last night... a memory, blurry and blurry, came to his mind, of him challenging Voldemort and of their split-second connection. He could remember, seeing that green light coming at him, hitting him almost, before being...turned away, turned back against its caller. Something had exploded--_Harry_ had exploded or at least the pain made him feel like he had. His father's screams and mother's voice echoed in his head. The blood on his fingers made sense because he could recall feeling that green light hitting his forehead, the light becoming some sort of soul-sucking demon, trying to tear his life away from him. He could remember fighting against the pull and then the pull suddenly being thrown away, thrown back the way it had come.

The Death Eaters had scattered. He could remember the sounds of their apparating just before he lost consciousness, but he could remember nothing after that. "It's a terrible mistake to make friends with Death Eaters," his father had once told him. "Because they will never go against the will of their master, of Voldemort. They'll turn on you if he tells them to."

"But dad," Harry replied. "They really are my friends. My best friends--my only friends. They'll never hurt me." James had sighed, rubbing his face with a hand tiredly, but then he'd smiled at his son sadly and said, "I hope you're right, Harry."

He got to his knees shakily, blinking in the bright sunlight, and shivered in the cool morning air. All around him was chaos: the previously orderly circle of houses with their perfect fences now lay liked child's toys, tossed every which-way in whatever fashion for whatever purpose. Everything spoke of the battle from the previous night, yet there were no bodies, only black pools of ash.

The only two bodies recognizable as bodies were the cool bodies of James and Lily. Harry choked as he saw his father, glasses dangling off one ear, arm thrown hazardously over a broken fence post, hair as messy as ever. He nearly collapsed as his eyes found his mother's limp form, still spread out like a broken doll, mouth still smiling in the same way as she'd died, sacrificing her own life for those of her children. Her hair was spread out like a fiery halo.

Of Voldemort, there was no sign, nor any of Peter the betrayer. Peter, whose treachery had been discovered just a few months before Harry's birth, had long been hunted but never found. Harry shivered to think that the man who his father had warned him of was the same as the man who had often played with him. His father had been right and he'd been a fool for believing that Death Eaters could be good, could be friends.

The dark ash pools could have been the bodies of his dead followers, burned unrecognizable as his orders commanded. Harry looked at them then turned away, wondering if any of the dead had been a 'friend.'

Harry dragged himself to his feet and walked over to his mother. "Mum..." He brushed her eyes closed and closed his own in silent tribute.

"Dad..." Harry pulled his father's limp form from the fence and dragged it to a rest beside his mother. They looked so peaceful there, sleeping almost were it not for the weaves of blood on each face, body, and garment. Harry knelt before them, whispering soft apologies and good-byes.

Then he stood again and wiped the tears from his eyes, starting on the task he dreaded most: finding Leo. He wanted nothing more than to never see his baby brother again if it meant finding yet another body.

The babe was still where Harry had left him the night before, lying against the fence and hiding from view beneath long grass strands. Harry choked up again at the still figure simply lying there and then bent his head again, letting his tears fall unstopped.

Unseen, Leo let out a soft breath, disturbing the grass around his head. One particular strand wiggled, already weighed down with the morning's dew. When Leo breathed again, disturbing it again, it finally gave in to gravity and stooped over. Its dewdrop fought against gravity before sliding down and dropping against Leo's nose, spilling into a million pieces.

Leo shook suddenly, slowly blinking open his golden eyes. Then his mouth opened in a gaping O as he yawned, squeaking slightly. His arms came up and brushed away the water then spread out in a pointless stretching. Leo blinked again then, seeing Harry, he smiled and pushed against the ground to get to his feet and walk his duck-walk to his brother.

"All alone..." Harry muttered quietly to himself, unawake of his brother's waking. Tears were pinching his closed eyes. He shook his head and fell to the ground with a sob. "Why am I always alone?" He rolled his hands into fists and pounded against the ground. "_Why didn't anyone help me!_"

Leo stopped when Harry fell, popping a thumb in his mouth uncertainly but at Harry's sobs the year-old babe started walking again. He stumbled and fell into Harry's shoulder, making the older boy jump in surprise. "Bah, da nya mm," Leo stated seriously, pushing against Harry to get back up to his feet and start walking again. "Mmm."

"L-Leo?" Harry's teary green eyes widened and he grabbed the younger boy in disbelief, turning the small body over as he inspected his brother. "Y-you're alive!"

Leo smacked his brother's head then grabbed at his glasses, pulling them off with a smile and he sat down with a thump, playing with them. His stomach growled and he stopped playing, turning to look up at his brother. A whimper started in his throat that ended with a full-scale wail.

Harry looked around in despair but remembered the baby bag his mother had the night before. It had been left inside the house and Harry picked up Leo, racing inside the house and finding the bag. The house was much warmer than outside, something that Harry was grateful for as he realized how cold Leo was to the touch.

There was a bottle inside the bag, prepared for feeding and Harry hurriedly grabbed it, popping off the leak-proof cap. Leo saw it and reached for it hungrily, settling down immediately. Harry sighed and put the baby down on a couch, grabbing some blankets from a room to wrap Leo in. Then he went back outside.

The sun would still be awhile in coming and Harry was grateful for the darkness, for the covering that would hide his tears.

In the distance, Harry could hear the sounds of approaching mugggle police and smiled cynically. Muggles could get here faster than the ministry. But then a problem presented itself as Harry realized that his parents' bodies would raise many questions if the police saw them.

"Mum, dad, I'm sorry," Harry murmured as he withdrew his wand. "... Incendio."

*

"Attention all units, attention all units: disturbance reported at housing grounds, Duke's Circle." 

The cop raised his hand and grabbed the two-way radio. "Copy that, I'm heading down there right now."

The radio fuzzed up then the operator spoke again. "Be advised: suspected assault and arson."

"Copy that. Over and out." He placed the two-way back in its hanger and carelessly flicked on his alarm, spinning the car around. He knew where the street was--his wife was looking at a house over there and he seemed like a pretty good neighborhood. New houses kept popping up, new people moving in. Just the other day, he talked with a fellow straight out of London who had come down here looking for a new home with his wife and kids, two smart-looking boys. Nice family.

Cars let him go, pulling over to get out of his way and getting back onto the street when he passed. The town was a close-knitted community so as he went by, he got several strange looks from people he knew, people who'd be sure to ask him later what was up.

The drive took a few minutes, maybe more, and he pulled up into the newest circle of houses, not one of them having owners yet.

When he pulled up to a stop, he got out, mouth open in shock. The entire street looked like it had been bombed. Wooden fences were plucked out and smashed, the grass lawns looked singed, and there was a smell of burning flesh in the air. Many of the houses looked ready to collapse, sporting burnt scars on their wooden surfaces. Several piles of ash scattered in the wind, brushing up into the sky like many black bats. One pile looked fairly fresh but dusted away like the rest. But the thing that caught his attention most was the green skull, hanging in the sky, laughing at him.

He lunged back into his car, grabbing the radio. "Unit 721, reporting on the situation on Duke's Circle. Everything's... everything's been destroyed. I need backup right away."

"Unit 721, your backup in on the way. Please describe the situation."

"It, it looks like someone had a major fight over here. Evidence of fire, perhaps small bombs or fireworks, dynamite even. Smells like burning flesh, and there's this thing hanging up in the air. No idea how but it looks like a green skull with something--maybe a snake--coming out of its mouth."

"Copy that. Hold all suspects until detainment is possible-"

There was a brief struggle over the operating line before a new voice took over. "Unit 271-"

"721," he corrected. "And who the hell is this?"

"This is the coordinating officer of all North-Britain communities. My officer's code is 12-19-52, Lieutenant Dan Murray. You are ordered to stand down. Repeat, stand down, and retreat."

"What the--I can't do that, sir! The bad guy might get away!"

"Officer, the 'Bad Guy' has already gotten away. I repeat, your orders are to stand down and retreat. Do you copy?"

He scoffed off radio but dutifully answered, "Copy that. Orders to stand down and retreat received. Over and out."

He threw the radio back up then stepped out again, digging out a coat to keep him warm as he started walking around. He kicked up one fence post, picking it up and examining it but tossed it down uselessly. Starting at the nearest house, he kicked the door in and charged, gun out, looking for suspects.

He'd gone through seven houses and was about to charge into the eighth when a bright white leash caught his attention. It was hooked up to the front fence. Hesitantly, he followed it around, followed it as it wound about the house and to the side of the house.

Flies buzzed in and out of his ears and he gagged as he saw what they were feasting on: a little pile of white fur. He brought up his hand, covering his mouth and nose, and started forward, kicking at the flies. They buzzed angrily as he disturbed their meal but flew out of the way, leaving for display the dead body of somebody's puppy.

He gagged again and backed away, going back to the front of the house and starting for the door. He had barely touched the knob when he heard someone shout "Petrificus Totalus!" from behind him.

*

"Pay up."

"Ah man..." The Hit Wizard sighed but reached into his pocket, pulling out ten Galleons even as the Obliviators and Muggle Protectors picked up the frozen muggle and headed out, stuffing the police back into his cop car.

His partner laughed, pocketing the money in her pants. "I told you he wouldn't listen. Muggles never listen--they're too stupid."

"Hey!" someone shouted. "My mum's a muggle so watch your mouth."

She rolled her eyes but shut up as the Aurors showed up. Instantly, everyone on the scene snapped to attention as three stepped away from the pack, coming closer to inspect the scene.

The first stopped at one pile of ash, one of the few that hadn't already been blown away. He fingered it thoughtfully then snapped his fingers and two Inspectors rushed up, bagging the sample. The Auror stood slowly, straightening his white robes, and looked around. "Looks like the Dark Lord's done his homework," he commented softly. "He _knows_ we can't process this stuff!"

"W-we're close to finding a process to-"

"Close?" the Auror bit out, stopping the Inspector mid-sentence. "Close is not good enough in this world! It's either 'we've got it' or 'we're dead,' got it?" The Inspector nodded quickly, forehead wet with nervous sweat. The Auror glared at him a moment before snorting and looking away, going back to studying the scene. Several people let out sighs of relief.

"Look at this," another Auror pointed out and the three were soon huddled together. The other Ministry workers looked at each other and raised eyebrows but when they tried to peek at what the big deal was, all they saw was a dark stain on a fence.

"Blood," one Hit Wizard mouthed and they all nodded in sudden understanding. Voldemort had come up with a spell much more powerful than a simple burning spell and when a corpse was burned with it, the remains were much too fine to get any sort of identification, even magically. It made morgue work hard, especially when there was no clue as to who the victim was and whether he/she/it was an ally or enemy. But blood samples... yea, those were still workable. Voldemort was a bastard when it came to being smart, however, and everything doubted that even blood samples would be of any use for much longer.

"And this," the third Auror murmured, fingering the remains of a burned corpse--affectionately dubbed 'ash hole' by morgue workers. "They didn't use the spell."

"What does this mean?" the second questioned softly. "Are these Death Eaters? Innocents?"

"There are no innocents in this war," the first reminded roughly. "This could be traitorous Death Eaters, spies of the Ministry."

"If they are, we should-"

"Or they could be Death Eaters killed by their victims," the first continued. "We can't be sure."

"You think the Order had something to do with this?" the second asked after a moment of silent thinking.

"Maybe," the first replied slowly. "Maybe." He stood and glared at the other wizards and witches. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get cleaning up. We can't stay too long." The scene, which had slowed slightly as the others listened into the Auror conversation, buzzed back to work and soon the neighborhood was back to normal, everything repaired and cleaned off.

In a second floor window of the eighth house, Harry watched behind window curtains, his green eyes taking in every detail.

*

"Unit 721, report in. Unit 721?"

"Uh..." He shook his head, trying to get out of his daze and looked around. "Unit 721, reporting in on Duke's Circle. No damage. It looks like someone had an overactive imagination." 

The operator, a friend of his, chuckled appreciatively. "Yea, we seem to be having a lot of those lately. Alright, go back on your patrol."

"Roger that." He gave the empty street another look over, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu before pulling away and driving back to the main roads. Later, when his friends or simply acquaintances asked what he was so rushed about that morning, he'd answer that there's been another false alarm, another in a series of false reports calling police in about imagined attacks. 

Lately, more and more people would call the police, describing people dressed in odd clothing--robes, usually black--and using magic of all things. When the police arrived, either the people would deny their calls or else the place would be completely...destroyed. Void of life. Nothing more than a hole in the ground, holding nothing that resembled the life it once held.

He whistled an old tune, one that he had forgotten since childhood, and drove down his assigned patrol, thanking whoever or whatever was listening that nothing had happened on his duty. Vaguely, he remembered a family of four, two with bright green eyes and two with bright gold eyes, but even that memory faded in time.

*

Harry had wanted to rush outside when the police officer had arrived, had wanted to throw himself in the officer's care, spilling all magical secrets in return for something concrete, something stable in the chaotic world his had become in the last twenty-four hours. But then the officer had pulled out his gun, had gone from house to house, and Harry knew he couldn't be trusted.

When the first wizards had arrived, Harry had felt none of that. He instead had faced pure and blind panic, the panic of what people might think. He had burned his own parents bodies, watched their skin and bones crumble into some unrecognizable monster, just to protect himself from some muggle's questions. He'd faced down and fought the most powerful Dark Wizard and lived to tell the tale--him! A nine-year old! They'd think he was a threat, a menace, a Dark Wizard whose powers exceeded those of Voldemort's. How else could they explain his survival?

They'd also ask where he'd learned his magic. His mother had taught him, true, but no one would believe that a nine-year old could master such advanced spells. No, Harry shook as he saw the wizards round up the muggle just before the officer came into the house he was in, treating the muggle like something that shouldn't be touched without gloves.

Leo, mercifully, had remained quiet the entire time, having fallen asleep after drinking his full. Harry had moved him upstairs onto the master's bed, tucking in beside the babe, and praying that Leo was smart enough to stay asleep.

Now that they were gone, Harry didn't know what he should do.

He looked out the window, looked back to the perfect neighborhood that had witnessed the fall of the Potter family, and wanted to cry but crying scared Leo. So he looked to the place his parents' had laid and burned that place in his memory before turning away.

"Leo..." He carefully lifted the blanket off Leo, gently shaking the babe awake. "Leo, you have to wake up. We have to go." Leo ignored him, rolling over and sticking his thumb in his mouth. Harry smiled softly at his brother's antics and gave up, falling in the bed as well with a sigh. A few more hours of sleep couldn't hurt anyone.

Sleep didn't hurt, but the dreams did.


	7. Chapter VI

****

Fugitive Princes

By March Madness

__

Gabriel had not cried during the long frightening journey. Now he did. He cried because he was hungry and cold and terribly weak. Jonas cried, too, for the same reasons, and another reason as well. He wept because he was afraid now that he could not save Gabriel. He no longer cared about himself.

The Giver, Lois Lowry

****

Chapter VI

"No..."

Harry dropped the baby bag and let go of Leo's hand as they saw the apartment building that had previously been their home. It was burning.

Police and fire fighters were guiding people down the stairs, away from the smoking building, many of them looking as dirty and singed as the people they were rescuing.

Harry couldn't believe it. They had just spent the entire day walking back home, back to the last safe place Harry could think of, and now even that was gone. All his things, all his parents' possessions...gone.

Leo yawned, dropping the sucker Harry had stolen for him. Harry clenched his fist and went very still, frightening the baby into crying again.

Letting out a strained breath, Harry smiled tightly, reassuring Leo that he'd be fine, before dropping Leo off in the park next door along with the baby bag and the blankets, pillows, and food they'd stolen from the house in Godric's Hollow. Then, taking one last look at Leo, Harry ran into the apartment, ignoring the firefighters' shouts.

Smoke blinded his eyes. Smoke and the smell of fire. He coughed, blinking hard, and dropped to a crawl, breathing much easier below the fire. He could hear the officers coming from behind him and hurried up to the stairs, dodging the residents on their way down as he ran/crawled up to the ninth floor.

"Hey!" one woman exclaimed, getting shoved out of the way. "What are you doing, young man?"

He didn't answer, shoving past more people. The higher he went, the fewer people there were. The firefighters followed him, yelling at him to get back, but the smoke had paused them at the sixth floor, and they'd given up at the eighth.

His family's door was broken open. He tensed, thinking of the possibility of thieves, but went in anyway.

An open window drained most of the smoke so he could stand up straight. Harry looked around but saw no one so he started to his parents' room first. A photo album of the entire family, several magical items and a key to Gringotts were all shrunken down to fit into a small bag Harry grabbed. All his parents' schoolbooks followed as Harry stuffed the small bag with as much as he could, choking up again but refusing to cry.

He went on to grab baby food from the kitchen, trying to hurry. His own room was left unopened simply because he didn't think he'd need any of that childish stuff anymore. He wasn't a child anymore; Voldemort had assured that.

Harry stuffed a few of Leo's favorite toys in and cast a weightless charm on the bag before rushing back downstairs as fast as he could. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," Harry muttered. "Leo... stupid, leaving him alone."

He got down to the second floor and was nearly tackled by relieved firefighters who dragged him outside. "We got him!" they yelled and the anxious crowd--as well as several newscasters--cheered. "Let's get him some air. Come on son," one firefighter pulled him towards an ambulance but Harry struggled the entire way.

"Let me go! Get off me!" He yanked his shoulders away but the firefighter wasn't letting him get away a second time. "I-I got to get my little brother. I left him in the park."

"In the park? Boy," the firefighter shook his head. "You've got some problems. Rushing into burning buildings, leaving your little brother alone..."

"Leave me alone," Harry replied tensely.

The officer looked into Harry eyes and sighed. "Let's just take care of that cut, why don't we? I'll send someone over to get your brother. What's he look like?" Harry glared but went along with the firefighter who added after a moment, "Who was in there?"

"What?"

"Who or what was in there that you had to go up there?" he asked again.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably as the officer scrubbed his forehead, scrapping off the dried blood. He didn't have to answer because a medic, passing by, swore lightly and said, "Quite a scar you got there."

"Huh?" Harry rubbed his forehead and felt the outlines of his 'scar.'

"Not something you get everyday." The medic paused to stare at Harry in suspicion. "Something really bad had to happen-"

Harry looked down and squirmed until he heard Leo: "Hawy!"

The firefighter let Harry go and Harry picked Leo up, glaring at the medic and officer. The medic had quietly asked the firefighter to leave, saying that he'd "take it from here." A creepy feeling was coming up and Harry didn't trust it a bit.

"Like I was saying," the medic continued as the firefighter walked away. "Something really bad had to have happened to get a scar like that." He paused. "You want to tell me, kid?" Harry didn't answer. "Because I can tell you right now that only really powerful--and really dark magic can cause something like that-"

"You're a wizard!" Harry's eyes widened and his grip on Leo tightened the slightest.

"Mundungus Fletcher, at your service. Actually, here at the service of Mrs. Figg but that's another matter."

Harry's face darkened and he took a step back. "Y-you're here to help that Auror." he bit out viciously.

"You know, there really isn't a fire," Fletcher ignored Harry's outburst. "It seems that some Death Eaters attacked your house last night, Mr. Potter. Any reason why?" Harry didn't answer. "They even went as far as to leave the Dark Mark in your own bedroom, fused with a spell so powerful that we can't erase the Dark Mark. How will muggles react to seeing that?" Harry still didn't answer and Fletcher pursed his lips. "Where are your parents, kid?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Leave them alone. Leave me alone." He turned to go but Fletcher grabbed his arm with enough force to hurt. Harry bit back a yelp and glared.

"You're parents haven't acted very innocent," Fletcher informed him. "Moving every two months, like they had something to hide; that incident with the Death Eaters-"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't you know? A few years ago, your parents were being brought down to the Ministry Office to be questioned about their shady behavior when a group of Death Eaters appear and free them. Then your family disappears for almost two years before we catch you again." Fletcher raised an eyebrow. "Does that sound very innocent?"

"My parents are innocent," Harry argued angrily, face paling. "And they already told me about the Ministry's 'questioning.' More like torturing-"

"Quiet! Your parents were probably spies-" Fletcher was going red in the face but calmed down when the firefighter came back to see if everything was all right. While the two were distracted, Harry sneaked away with his little brother.

*

"Arabella, the Potters have gone," Fletcher whispered to the lady Harry had shoved while going up the stairs. She nodded absently, sitting on the sidewalk as she knitted. It didn't even look like she was listening to him as he talked out of the corner of his mouth.

"I know." She pushed back some hair from her face. "Where do you think he'll go?" Fletcher shrugged in reply and she frowned as she looked up to the panicking muggles. "How long does the Ministry plan on letting this go on?"

"Not much longer or the muggles will get suspicious."

It was very stupid of them," she mumbled. "Now they'll have to destroy half of the building to make that fire look real."

"They'll have to do it anyway, trying to get rid of that Dark Mark." He sighed mournfully, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm getting too old for this."

"Don't start complaining now. It's what you get for being an Auror in these times." She threaded the thick needle back and forth. "What did you find out?"

"James and Lily are missing, maybe even dead." Her face paled but she kept knitting. "Harry knows something about it, but he wouldn't tell me."

"Why would he? You're pretty scary."

"And Harry hates Aurors. Strike against you."

"And Sirius," she added softly. "He won't go to his godfather's then?" Fletcher shook his head. "And with the full moon being last night, the werewolf is out of the question. Then where?"

"I don't know. The Potters were really into secrecy."

"Which is why the Ministry suspects them," Arabella uttered quietly.

"And everyone in the Order."

"Everyone in the Order _except_ the Head of it," she contradicted importantly. "Though he'd never tell us why."

"Well, we can't stay here." He helped her up like any good medical officer would help up an older woman. "The Obliviators and Inspectors will be showing up soon, as well as Muggle-Relationship authorities. It wouldn't do for them to catch two suspected Order members hanging out."

Arabella looked back with a sigh, the apartment building that had been her home for nearly three months. For the three months since the Order had tracked the Potters to this address and sent her here with the mission of watching the Potters, spying on them to make sure that they hadn't been turned. And in those three months, she had discovered one thing; James and Lily loved their children more than life itself and would do anything to keep them safe. Last night, a feeling had come to her that their love had been put to the ultimate test and though they'd passed, they weren't coming back anytime soon. The Death Eater attack only assured her that she had no reason to be reassured. She gave the apartment one last look, then turned around and walked away.

*

Diagon Alley had definitely seen better days. Harry could remember, as he looked around the dark street, the day he'd been brought here to get his wand. His mother had always been so uptight about his education, teaching him everything she knew and even getting him a wand.

That day had been horrible, one of the worst he could remember. The wand-maker, Ollivander, had been really excited at first, excited to have new business, and as Harry went through wand after wand he only grew more eager to find the right wand. But when he'd found it... the look on the wand-maker's face, in the wand-maker's eyes made Harry wish his wand had never been found. Ollivander spoke briefly with James and Lily about the wand's origin, adding that it even had a brother out there with a feather from the same phoenix at its core. When they'd been told, and when everyone else listening in to the conversation had heard who owned that other wand, all eyes had turned to Harry with anxious, even fearful looks.

Harry had never been told, however, and Lily had made sure that he never knew.

Leo was half-asleep, barely managing to hold onto his older brother's hand. Harry gave his brother a sad, apologizing look, and headed towards Gringotts. He needed some money if he wanted to rent a room.

He walked down the magical street, holding Leo's hand, and trying to ignore the looks people sent him. Now days, no one was brave enough to walk down any street by themselves, let alone the magical streets of London, yet they saw Harry walking alone save for his brother, both under ten years of age. Some paused and whispered, pointing fingers at the (foolishly) brave young lads, wondering where their parents were, some even speculating that the two young boys had nothing to fear because they were sons of some Death Eater, or sons of some Auror and therefore could walk around untouched.

"By Merlin!" A man in his twenties with a mop of blue-tinted hair, long enough to be pulled back into a pony at the nape of his back, dropped a bag of books and stared at Harry with wide eyes. "H-Harry Potter? Is that you?"

Harry instinctively drew Leo behind him but the man saw him and his mouth dropped open. "And Leo! How long has it been since I last saw you guys?" He came up to them, enveloping Harry in a great hug. "You've gotten so big, Harry! And with that wicked scar--I almost didn't recognize you! Say," the man paused and looked around. "Where are your parents? They didn't leave you two to walk alone, did they?"

Harry pulled back, trying to keep some of his dignity, and asked, "Who are you?"

The guys tossed his arms in the air. "You don't remember me? Has it been that long?" At Harry's blank look, he rolled his arms and said, "It's me, Sirius. You're godfather."

Harry froze but Sirius didn't seem to notice, whipping Leo out from behind him. "Leo's sure gotten big. How old are you?" Leo blubbered into his hands. "You can't be much older than one--let's see, you're birthday was in March and it's only now June-"

Leo began to cry and Harry all but pulled Leo back, face dropping into a mask. This man was an _Auror_! Everyone else in the street knew the same thing, for as soon as Sirius had come they'd stopped their watching and whispering, not wanting to draw attention to themselves.

"Hey, shh," Sirius smiled and tried to cheer up the one year-old but Leo only cried harder. Harry drew back into a defensive position but luckily Sirius glanced at his watch and jumped. "Is it that late already? Hey listen, I gotta go. Tell your parents hi and that it's not safe to walk around alone!" With that, he tore down the streets, stopping to pick up his fallen items before running away.

Harry let out a sigh a relief and whispered, "Shh. It's all right now," into Leo's ear before going into the goblin bank. 

He stepped up to a goblin's desk and said, "Excuse me, I'm here to make a withdrawal-"

"Have you got your key?" the goblin cut in nastily, not even looking up from his paperwork. Harry fumbled into the bag, looking for the tiny key and finally found it and returned it to its original size before handing it over to the goblin. The goblin snatched the key and held it up to the light before grunting in satisfaction. "Come with me," he ordered, waving a hand for Harry to follow.

The nine-year old picked up his bag and the squirming Leo and hurriedly followed the displeased-looking goblin past his desk and led them down to a door that left the great marble hall, down towards the underground vaults. They stopped before an empty cart, empty save for the single goblin waiting to drive the cart wherever it was needed.

"Where to?" the goblin asked with a sneer on his face, or at least it looked like a sneer. Goblins always looked like they had smelled something unpleasant right under their nose, curling their long nails and wrinkling their nose to escape the smell.

The banking goblin handed him the small golden key. "Vault 313."

The driver grunted and motioned with a hand to Harry. "Vault 313. Are you coming?

Harry got into the cart and they were off at breakneck speed, racing down the miniature tracks and whizzing by other people, people on their way back to ground level. Leo tried to stand and wave at them but the cart was going too fast and he promptly fell back down.

The tracks were like a maze: right, left, right, right, right, left, straight, left, right, left, straight, straight--turning and twisting so that Harry wouldn't have been able to find the way back on his own. The goblin didn't mind with steering, sitting on the opposite side of the cart and leaving Harry to suspect that not even the goblins fully knew where they were going, leaving their bewitched carts to lead the war to the right vault.

Harry felt his head beginning to spin and leaned against the cart's side, watching the stone walls sweep by. He suddenly started as the light caught onto the walls and illuminated the doors carved into them, doors so well camouflaged that Harry hardly noticed them, nearly missed them as the cart sped along.

As they passed the many doors that hung in the wall, Harry could hear the most horrible things: dragons roaring in the distance, rocks collapsing from the ceiling, the screams of a would-be thief as s/he was caught and pulled into one of the many traps protecting the Gringotts bank vaults from robbery. They passed a lake and the cart tilted, making Harry catch his breath least they suddenly fall off the tracks and into the dark waters where rocks grew up from the floor and down from the ceiling, looking like vicious spikes.

The cart finally slowed down and stopped before a hidden doorway but as they stopped, the door suddenly became very obvious as if their presence brought it back from its hiding place. Leo had fallen asleep on the ride so Harry left him in the cart to blubber in sleep while he got out. The goblin took the key and fit it into the keyhole, opening it and waving away the green smoke that came away in the opening.

The fortune waiting them was enormous. Piles and piles of Galleons were littering the floor like a golden road, many more than the piles of Sickles and Knuts. Harry swallowed and grabbed up a few dozen of the golden coins as he felt tears stinging again. He brushed at his eyes roughly and walked back from the vault into the cart, sitting down and picking Leo up to hold for the ride back.

When they were back outside, Harry woke Leo up and they walked around some more. It was beginning to be very late in the day but when he walked by the Leaky Cauldron and saw his godfather laughing with some friends, Harry changed his mind about renting a room for the evening. Nearly an hour after leaving the bank, an hour of purposeless walking, Harry still hadn't decided what he was going to do.

"Oh the poor dear."

"Molly, really now--you don't know who he is."

"But he's just been walking around. You don't suppose he's been left here alone, do you?"

Harry's cheeks burned as he heard the softly spoken conversation and he tried to distract himself by getting out another sucker to feed to Leo who grabbed it up eagerly.

"Molly... fine, what do you want to do?"

He never found out because someone bounced into him, knocking him over. Harry looked up to see a sheepish-looking young girl, face as red as her hair. "Oh, I'm sorry," she stuttered out, going even redder. "I-I didn't see you-"

"It's fine," Harry replied curtly, standing up and backing away. The girl ducked her head in embarrassment, still blushing.

"Ginny!" The woman who'd been talking about Harry came around from behind him and grabbed the girl. "Are you alright? What are you doing, running into people. I'm sorry young man," she said, turning to Harry when she suddenly stopped with a gasp. Harry swallowed in semi-fear as the woman reached for him in shock. "Oh my, what's happened to you?" She touched his forehead, shaking her head. "Does this hurt?"

"Uh..."

"Harry!" Harry's head shot over to see Sirius, waving his hands wildly down the street. A rush of people suddenly blocked the view between them and Harry looked around for a place to hide.

"Are you alright, dear?" the woman asked kindly. "Are you waiting for someone? I'm sorry, but we've been watched you for awhile now-"

"Harry!" Sirius's voice was getting closer.

Harry swallowed again and willed tears into his eyes. It wasn't too hard. "M-my mum said she'd come pick me up but I think something happened," he whispered and the woman's eyes went wide in sympathy. "I really don't want to stay here but there's no where else to go-"

"Harry!"

"Don't worry," the woman reassured him, hugging him. "We'll find your parents. Why don't you come home with us for tonight? My husband works in the Ministry and he'll see if anything's wrong."

Harry went rigid. The Ministry? But Sirius called out again and Harry didn't want to face the Auror so he nodded and picked up the baby bag, stiffening the slightest when the woman picked up Leo but he willed himself to relax. The young girl was still bright red and walked behind her mother in silence. Their small group reached a much larger group minutes later, after weaving through the crowd of evening rush shopping.

"Come along, this way," the woman hurried them, keeping a hand on her young daughter and an eye on Harry. "We don't want to keep the others waiting, now do we. Your bothers are probably wrecking havoc right now. When was the last time you saw the twins, Ginny?" 

The girl blushed again when Harry glanced at her but squeaked out, "They were heading towards the joke store."

The woman huffed and went faster. She introduced herself as Molly Weasley, her daughter being Ginny and a year younger than Harry.

"Ah, here you are," Molly stated and stopped so fast that Harry almost collided with her. He looked around and blinked at the brightness; there was red everywhere. Actually, it was just what he assumed was the rest of the family. "I see you caught them, Arthur. Ginny was just telling me where they were headed."

Arthur turned out to be the father, holding two young boys who looked absolutely identical by their collars. His face was slightly strained. "The joke store? I caught them up to their elbows in-" He stopped and blinked at the sight of Harry. "Oh, how do you do? I see that Molly caught you. She was talking about doing something-"

"Arthur!" Molly blushed.

Arthur smiled but held out a hand to shake with Harry. "Arthur Weasley. And these are my sons, Fred and George." Harry nodded, stunned at their friendliness. 

"We're twins," one informed Harry.

"I-I noticed."

"Mum I--oh, hello." Another young man walked up, and Harry knew instantly that he was family because of the red hair. "I'm Charlie. You a friend of Ron's?"

"No," Molly answered delicately. "He's just coming over. His parents didn't show and I was just about to ask your father if there was anything he could do to find out if anything happened."

"Oh." Charlie scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. "Alright. Anyway, Mum I found those robes you wanted."

Molly smiled but it faded when Charlie shook his head and mouthed the words 'too much.' She put on another fake smile and quickly changed the subject. "Where are your brothers, Charlie?"

He shrugged again. "Here and there. Bill's looking in about a job at Gringotts and Ron's with him." He looked back to Harry. "I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name."

"It's Harry," he replied instantly. "Harry Potter."

"Potter?" Arthur looked up from his scolding to the twins in surprise. His eyes flickered with an emotion that Harry identified immediately: suspicion. "James and Lily?" Harry nodded unwillingly and Arthur looked over to Leo. "That must be Leonard, then. Where are your parents, Harry?"

He shrugged and affected a frightened tone. "They said they'd be back by now, but I can't find them."

"Hmm." Arthur and Molly shared a look, Arthur plainly saying, 'Potter?! You want to bring two Potters into the house?' and Molly answering with, 'You think I'd just leave them?' Arthur shook his head but backed down from Molly's challenging glare. "I'll see if I can find anything out at the Ministry tonight... Potter..." He shook his head again but the last two sons came up, distracting everyone from the growing tension.

"Bill, Ron, this is Harry," Molly introduced lightly. "He'll be staying at our house tonight while your dad tries to find his parents." Arthur snorted something like, "Find James and Lily Potter? Right."

"Hi," Ron shook Harry's hand.

"'lo." Harry tried to smile back but his eyes kept going back to Arthur. This was a bad idea.

*

The Burrow looked absolutely magical, so unlike the strictly muggle or at least semi-muggle homes Harry was accustomed to during his family's stay from the wizarding world. It looked as though it had first been, at some time or other, a giant stone pigpen but over the years the family had fixed it, turning into a cozy house, adding rooms as they were needed, repairing and building and fixing and raising the old structure until it's present condition. Harry counted no less than four chimneys sticking up from the roof and he thought he counted another but it was getting late and the sun was dipping into the night sky. Molly hurried the family in, Arthur behind her checking the wards of the house while Ron dutifully showed Harry where he could sleep.

Molly fussed over Leo continuously. She'd scrunch up her mouth and talk to him with long and stressed syllables in her words, sounding like, "You're a goood baby boor, aren't you? Yes you aare, you're the best little boooy!"

"So, you don't know what happened to you parents?" Ron asked after dinner in house's main room. He fiddled with his hair. "That has to be really bad for you, huh?" Harry nodded soundlessly, not trusting himself to speak. Ron cleared his throat and looked around. "Well, what do you want to do? Dad won't be home for a couple more hours at the least."

Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

"Let's play some chess. You do know how to play Wizard's Chess, right?" At Harry's nod, Ron grinned and rushed upstairs to grab his chessboard. "Good, because it's my favorite game." They got started right away, Harry choosing the black pieces despite Ron's comment that the white side gets the advantage, being the first to move and all.

"Do you have to take care of your brother a lot?" Ron asked as he made a move.

Harry nodded. "Yea. My parents sometimes have to go to... work, so I get left alone."

"I know how that feels," Ron confided as he stole Harry's rook with his bishop. "My dad works at the Ministry and mum's always going off to work somewhere, too, so I get left with Ginny."

"Don't your other brothers help?"

"No, not really. I mean, if Fred and George volunteered to help me 'sit Ginny, I'd turn them down in an instant. Those two are crackers. Perce's off at school and when he's not, he's not worth putting up with. Charlie and Bill are always off somewhere."

Harry nodded sympathetically as he moved up a pawn to position it in a threatening move against one of Ron's knights. Ron scowled and ordered the knight back, bringing it off the offensive. A few moves later, however, the night was back in action, ready to attack Harry's queen. The entire game, they would switch off questions and answers, focussing on the game but getting closer with each other.

One hour and a number of games later, Mrs. Weasley firmly sent the boys to bed. Ron made to complain but stopped short at the look on her face and he dragged his feet up to his room, the same room Harry was invited to sleep in.

"I'll watch Leo," she promised when Harry asked for his little brother. "You just go to sleep."

Harry nodded slowly, casting one last look at the sleeping Leo, sleeping in a small bed that had been brought down from the attic. Molly seemed nice enough so he gave in and left to sleep.

Hours later, when true night had fallen and the sky was darker than space, Harry jerked away at the sound of a door opening. It had come from downstairs. Cautiously, he got up from bed and slipped to the bedroom's door, careful not to wake anyone else up. He opened the door and crept down the stairs, stopping when he heard the conversation in the kitchen.

"It's...unbelievable," the newly returned home Arthur was saying to his wife. "They're just coming in by the dozens, claiming to have been under some curse or spell or potion, claiming that they had no control over their actions. Most say it was the Impervious. We'd test them under some truth serum, but we've already run out and most of them are telling the truth. The Minister's offered a three-day period where any Death Eater wanting to come back and come back and be forgiven after a legal confession."

"What does it mean, Arthur?" Molly asked. "Has... has _He _lost his powers?"

"No... I don't know..." Harry went down a few more steps and could see Arthur shaking his head in confusion, sitting at the kitchen table while Molly made up some hot tea. "No one knows how to deal with any of this."

"The attacks have stopped, right?"

"The last one was just yesterday," Arthur replied. "Two in one day." Molly gasped. "Both at night. First, there was some fighting over in a muggle village not too far from London. No one can figure out who was there or what was going on, so the Ministry's marked it off as a minor attack." Harry's jaw clenched. Minor attack? "Then later that night, there was something in muggle London, but, like the earlier one, no one can figure out who or why. I think they're connected but I can't figure out how."

Molly sighed and stirred the tea a bit more before handing it over. Arthur smiled his thanks and took down a drink. "Have...did you find anything about the Potters?"

"No." He gave a wry bark of laughter. "I don't think I really expected to, either."

"Arthur!"

"It's true, Molly," he replied softly. "They've been in hiding for the last nine, ten years. Hiding from the Ministry, hiding from the Order, hiding from the war... hiding from it all. And all those times where we've seen Death Eaters at their house..."

"But they couldn't be traitors," Molly argued. "Not James, not Lily-"

"And not Peter, uh?" Arthur shook his head. "We've already been proven wrong before, and there's more evidence in this case than in Pettigrew's place."

"There's an explanation," Molly countered confidently. "Dumbledore's always told us there's a reason and that we shouldn't be so hasty--I tell you, we're being hasty, marking them off as traitors."

Harry's throat started to choke and he made a small sob. Molly and Arthur froze and looked up, catching Harry's eyes. "H-Harry?" Molly asked. "It that you?" He didn't answer. "What are you doing?"

"I-I miss my mum," he replied honestly, words spilling free from his mouth before he could stop them.

"Oh..." Molly motioned for him to come down and she gave him a hug. "It's alright, dear. How long have you been waiting there?" Harry shook his head and began to cry for real as the pain hit home again and Molly could only hold him while his shoulders were racked with tears and sobs. Harry hugged her back, clinging to her like she was the only constant thing in his world. In his mind, pictures of his parents screaming, burning, dying flashed over and over again, torturing him, tormenting more tears from his already weary eyes.

Molly wiped at the tears at her own eyes, sparing her husband a look that said, 'Look at him, the poor boy. He's an innocent in this war.' Arthur glanced back from his wife to Harry and his eyes softened, bringing back a look on his face that hadn't been seen since the start of the war.

At the top of the stairs, awakened by Harry's sneaking and following him unseen, the twins shared a wide-eyed look, having heard everything that was said and coming to obvious conclusions. They crept back to bed, quietly whispering a conversation that involved suspicions and decisions concerning the strangely frightened Harry Potter. When Harry came up a few minutes later, still breathing heavily with tears, the twins watched him fall asleep and listened to his ragged night breathing tossed with nightmares. They didn't sleep at all that night, too confused by the very real darkness outside in the world, trying to consume the magical world, and watching the very real affects of what coming into contact with such darkness did with a person.


	8. Chapter VII

****

Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

__

"I'm off to a bad start, Mr. Ricks," he opined.

"You only asked for a start," Cappy piped back at him. "I didn't guarantee you a good_ start, and I wouldn't because I can't."_

The Go-Getter, Peter B. Kyne

****

Chapter VII

The next morning, Mrs. Weasley walked around the house and tension simply followed her. It was the same with Mr. Weasley, but because he left so early only his office was around to see how agitated the man was.

Back at the Burrow, Harry woke up and immediately regretted his breakdown. He'd cried in the arms of a woman--and in the presence of a man--who thought his parents were traitors.

When he went downstairs, he found Leo sleeping in the kitchen on the small bed, magically floating so that Mrs. Weasley could watch him but without stopping her furious breakfast making. When she saw him, she smiled. "Good morning, love. You're sure up early." Harry looked away and she went back to cooking.

He walked up to his brother and started to lift him, unconsciously checking to make sure that the sleeper was all right.

"You're the only one up so far," Molly informed as she stirred a skillet of scrambled eggs with one hand, flipped cooking bacon strips on another skittle with the other.

"D-did Leo cry?" Harry ventured a question.

Molly paused and gave Harry a strict look. "Yes, actually. He seemed to have some trouble sleeping. Bad dreams." She stared at him for a few more moments and looked about to ask him a question when the toast caught her attention.

Bill came down, dressed in dragon-leather pants, and pecked his mum on the cheek. "Morning, mum."

"Morning Bill," she answered absently. "Sleep well?"

"Good 'nuff." Bill turned to Harry and smiled tightly. "Morning, Harry. I heard you had some trouble sleeping."

"W-what?" Harry's eyes shot up from his brother to the older man. 

"You said your name was Potter?" Bill narrowed his eyes and Harry paled but anything else the older Weasley was about to say was interrupted when the twins came down.

"Morning mum," they chorused, each giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. She muttered the usual 'Morning' and 'Sleep well?' while never fully taking her attention away from the meal. Ron and Ginny soon followed, going through the exact same routine and getting the exact same results and in the end, everyone save Charlie and Percy were sitting around the wooden kitchen table, waiting for breakfast.

Molly noticed her two sons' absences while she was beginning to serve breakfast. "Hmph. Where's the other two?" she hufed, spooning out bacon, eggs, pancakes, and toast while a pitcher of orange juice flew across the kitchen, pouring itself into the family's empty glasses. Harry took an awkward seat between the boy Ron--who Harry had slightly warmed up to--and Ginny--who hadn't seemed to have gotten over the fact that she'd run him over the day before.

Percy was down after a moment, brushing off his robes and absently giving his mother a kiss before sitting down at the table. "Don't bother waiting for Charlie," he commented airily, ignoring the fact that everyone had already started eating. "He's writing an owl to his girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?" Molly stopped cooking for a moment, looking up. Her utensils, however, kept on working without her help or attention, flipping the pancakes and pouring more batter into the pan.

"Not girlfriend, Perce," Bill admonished. Her wiped his mouth with a napkin before continuing. "Charlie's been thinking about going into the dragon field full time, instead of just helping out locally."

"Full-time?" Molly gasped, a hand going to her mouth. "It's too dangerous."

"Oh yes, mum, very dangerous." But Bill didn't look at all concerned. "But how much more dangerous is working with dragons compared to working as a, say, Ministry official, in these times?" His mum shook her head, unable to come up with a comeback.

Molly finished the last of the pancakes with a worried expression on her face, sitting down to eat some breakfast as Bill rose to put his dishes into the sink. He gave a another kiss, saying, "Thanks for breakfast," before heading towards the door.

"And where are you going?" Molly asked.

"I must have forgotten," Bill stepped back with a great smile on his face. "I've got a new job."

"I hope it's not like the last one," George deadpanned as Fred snickered. "Remember, where you had to go around and ask people what color robes they liked best?"

"Yea, I especially remember you walking around in those bright pink ones," Fred picked up. "Just because that one old lady couldn't picture pink robes, and you couldn't change your robes back after making them pink."

"Did she like the color, in the end?" George asked with a fake sincerity.

Bill rolled his eyes but didn't get angry. "No, I'm working at Gringotts. Remember, I went down there yesterday and they hired me."

"Looks like all those O.W.L.s paid off," Molly said, nodding her head approvingly. She sent Percy and the twins a look. "I hope your brothers will be able to do as well as you did, Bill." Percy straightened his back with a smug smile while the twins rolled their eyes. "However," she added distastefully, eyes taking in Bill's outfit, "I think you would do well to buy better clothes-"

Bill laughed, cutting her off, and left.

Harry had kept his head down, eyes on his food during the entire conversation, feeling like an outsider. Leo woke up and Molly hurriedly fixed a bottle of warm milk for him, getting up to coddle him some more. Harry finished soon after, excusing himself from the room and sneaking out to the front when no one was watching.

There was a huge clearing all around the Burrow, with a forest just at the edge of their property and trails leading to and from the place. Harry let out a huge sigh and mentally counted back the time: three days ago, he was living in a cozy if crowded apartment, with two parents who loved him. One day ago, he's awakened with both those things taken away from him and with the horrible realization that he really was alone. Now, today, he was full and warm--but he had no idea where to go.

Molly's voice oozed out the doors, cooing Leo with Leo's laughs joining her. What did Leo need? What if Harry couldn't get it? He had no right to think Leo could survive with just him.

Maybe he should just leave, right now, leave Leo here. Mrs. Weasley would take care of him, perhaps much better than Harry could. Then, with Leo gone, Harry could...

Could what? Harry shook his head. 'Scratch that. I need Leo, even if he doesn't need me.' His parents, with their secret jobs that they'd often left him alone to do, had left him with an enormous fortune, so he could simply get up and buy a place, buy somewhere and raise Leo himself.

'I'm just a kid,' his brain objected, frightened. 'I can't take care of Leo forever.'

The door opened and a shadow fell on Harry, gone again as Ron sat down heavily, wiping at the taste of syrup still on his lips. "Hey. What'cha doing out here?" He squinted against the sun. "Waiting for your parents? They coming to pick you up?"

'I wish.' Harry shrugged. "I don't know. You're dad's supposed to find them." 'I wish he could.'

"Are you just going to stay here?" Ron asked. "Cause if you are-"

"Naw," Harry interrupted. "I, uh, know someone who lives nearby. If my parents don't come, I'll just go and stay at his house."

"Really?" Ron's attention was perked. "Who?"

"Remus," Harry answered thoughtlessly, but then realized that it was a great idea! He smiled slightly, eyes lighting up for the first time. 'I'll go live with Remus!' He quickly counted the days, surprised to find that the other night had been the full moon. 'He'll know what to do.'

"Remus?" Ron's face screwed up in thought. "Don't think I know him."

"He's a friend of my parents," Harry quickly explained, standing up. "I think I better go tell your mum. That way we can go right away and stop being in the way."

"But-" the door shut and Ron shook his head, rolling his eyes. "You're not a bother, Harry," he finished to himself, getting into the house. "Wonder what mum's going to say when she hears him say that."

"Bother?" Mrs. Weasley had just heard Harry and her head was shaking furiously, mimicking Ron's expression. "Goodness, what gave you that idea?" Harry was about to say something but she came to her own conclusion and her face darkened. "Fred! George!" she hollered, yelling up the stairs. "Get down here this instant!"

"No, Mrs. Weasley, it wasn't them," Harry quickly answered. "You're family's been nothing but nice to me."

Fred and George tromped down the stairs, looking surprised. "We didn't do anything, mum-"

"Then why would you get such an idea?" Molly was asking Harry, completely ignoring her boys.

Harry squirmed, scratching his arm. "Nothing. I just really don't want to get in the way and I really want to see if Remus... if Remus knows where my parents are. He, he might."

"Remus?" She looked surprised. "Remus Lupin?" Harry nodded. "But, how would Remus know where James and Lily are? How would he know if no one else can figure it out?"

"Remus always knows where we are," Harry explained. "He sometimes takes care of me and Leo, when my parents aren't there."

"What do you mean?" Molly asked again. Fred and George, seeing that they weren't needed, sneaked some food into their pockets and headed back upstairs.

"My parents sometimes get called and have to go somewhere," Harry answered, not really knowing why. "It happens a lot, and sometimes they don't come back for awhile and when they do they're really tired, sometimes hurt." He squirmed a bit more under her gaze. "So Remus sometimes comes over and takes care of Leo."

"By Merlin," she breathed, forgetting about Harry. "Have they been working for the Order this whole time?" 

"So, I really want to go to his house."

"How far away is that?" she asked absently, still half-lost in thought.

"Not far," Harry promised. "It won't take long at all."

By this time, everyone still at home had gathered back downstairs, usually just pausing to see the scene. Molly swallowed and looked around. "I can take you-"

"I'll be fine," Harry cut in.

"Well, I can't let you walk the entire way," Molly declared, putting her hands on her hips. "Fred, go get him a broom." Fred jumped in the process of stealing more food and gladly escaped punishment. "You do know how to fly, right?"

Harry nodded, picking up his bag of things that he'd brought downstairs that morning. "I left mine in the apartment, he added absently before freezing, some blood leaving his face. Molly stopped as well, giving him a strange look as she thought about that particular phrase, tried to think about why those words were trying to spark her memory. They had all migrated outside as Fred came with the broom and Molly, against her better judgement, picked Leo up and handed him to Harry. "Do be careful," she urged, the strange look still on her face.

He turned to go, turned to leave this family that had been so nice to him. But he could almost hear his mother, 'tsk'ing her tongue at him from wherever she now stood: _Harry James Potter! For shame! Are you going to just leave without saying a word, a real word?_

"I paid them back for their kindness," Harry replied, thinking of the Galleons left beneath his pillow, left in a place he was sure Mrs. Weasley would find, but he could imagine his mother shaking her head.

__

Is this what I've brought you up to be? She put her hands on her hip and faced him down with a hard look. _Is this what you'll be whenever I'm not around? What will your father think when he hears of it? Imagine: my oldest son, thinking that simple money will buy his way out of everything. You only left that money because you didn't want them following you. You knew that once they found those gold pennies, they'd forget all about you._

"What do you expect me to do?" he asked, exasperated but she only continued to look at him, telling him with her eyes that he knew exactly what to do_._ And so, he turned around, holding his year-old brother to his side and keeping his head down to avoid the watching Weasleys.

"Um," he cleared his throat. "I'd, I'd like to pay you back, but not with money," he added quickly, seeing the look on Mrs. Weasley's face.

He started again, trying to be more formal, older, trying to look like an adult in their eyes. "Please don't ask me how I know, or to prove it, because I can't. Voldemort has fallen--" They blinked and paled. "--and now lies dead, or at least as close to death as a monster can be. He has been gone for the past two days, which is why so many Death Eaters are now coming in for confessions. They probably aren't very powerful without Him backing them up. I wouldn't trust them," he shivered, thinking of how much he _had_ trusted them.

__

"Is that enough?" he asked his mother, standing just beyond the edge of his vision. She smiled heavenly and he knew it was. Not wanting to spend anymore time in their presence, not wanting to give them anymore time to figure out exactly what he was trying to keep hidden, Harry grabbed the broom and took off.

*

Molly sighed, thinking about the strange visitor and the things he'd said. She wasn't about to lie to herself, wasn't going to say she wasn't the least bit confused by what she'd found out, but she didn't want to think about it right then. "Ron," she called upstairs. "Is your room clean?"

"Yea," came the reply.

"Are you sure? I'm coming up to check-"

"Um, wait a minute."

Molly shook her head and headed upstairs anyway. "I swear, I gave you all morning and-" She reached his bedroom to find him trying to hide all evidence that he'd been sleeping instead of cleaning as he was supposed to. "Ronald Weasley! Get up and clean up this filth!"

Ron groaned but went about cleaning up as he was supposed to, starting with the floor.

Molly snorted and started to straighten up the room as well, throwing his clothing into a basket. "Sleeping, were you? And what have you done today that's so exhausting that you need to go back to sleep?" Ron didn't answer, knowing better than to answer such questions.

She reached his bed and started straightening the pillows when she noticed that the bed Harry had slept in the night before was already made--except for the pillows. The pillows looked like he'd simply tossed them on, lying with none of the order that the rest of the bed had been made with. She went towards them and picked one up, gasping with what she found under it.

Ron's face was red with anger and he viciously tossed his things to their places, standing tall when he saw that the room was clean. "Mum, can I go out and play?" She was standing over the guest bed but didn't answer. He tried again. "Mum, can I go-"

"Ron, go call your father," she cut in breathlessly.

Curious, Ron looked over her shoulder and his eyes nearly popped out.

Giant piles of Galleons shined brightly, smiling at him from beneath the pillow. His mum took a ragged breath and raked through them and Ron swore he counted over a dozen. With a shaky hand, she lifted the other pillow and even more lay there. Molly gave out another gasp and both of them looked at the third pillow, still lying down on the bed, innocently hiding what Ron suspected was another fortune.

"Ron...go... go get your father, Ron..."

He ran downstairs like he never had before.

*

"Are you trying to tell me that there've been no major attacks in the last two days?" The head Auror narrowed his eyes dangerously. "And you expect me to believe this?"

"We are having trouble believing it ourselves," the Ministry replied roughly. "But it is true."

"No major attacks, and two minor attacks, add to that the hundreds of Death Eaters and Dark Sympathizers that have turned themselves in... and you'll have our current situation."

Arthur shifted uncomfortably from his seat along the table as the head of the Muggle Relationship Department, toying with a quill. The Minister and head Auror began to bicker, as they frequently did, and in the end the two were furiously yelling from across the table.

"My Aurors need more power!"

"You already have enough power! Anymore, and we might as well abolish the Ministry and the wizarding democracy of Great Britain!"

"Mr. Weasley, sir?" An aide stuck her head in, efficiently silencing the argument as everyone, every head of every department, looked over to the coloring redhead. "Your son's calling for you. He says it's a emergency."

"Alright, I'll be right out." He stood and nodded in acknowledgement to the different heads. "If you'll excuse me..." Outside, he was directed to his office and the personal fireplace there. "Hello?"

Ron's head, excited and distraught, appeared. "Dad! You need to come home right now!"

"Wh- Ron, what's going on?" But Ron had already gone. Arthur put his tongue in his cheek, millions of possibiliteis--and few of them good--floating in his head and quickly stood up. "I need to get home," he told his secretary, nearly ripping his jacket as he threw his arm into the sleeve. "Tell the Minister I'm sorry I can't rejoin the meeting, and ask him if I can get a briefing later." She nodded, not even looking up from filing her nails, and he left.

At the house, everything was deadly quiet and Arthur nearly ripped off the door. "Molly!" he screamed, dropping his jacket and rushing into the empty kitchen. "Ron? George? Fred!"

"We're up here, dad," Ginny called down, popping downstairs. Her face was flushed. "Come on!" she urged, grabbing his arm and pulling him up.

"What's going on?" he asked. "Is anybody hurt?" She didn't answer, pulling him harder.

"Dad!" Ron rushed up and stopped. "You won't believe-"

"It's insane," Fred was arguing with George in the corner. "No one would leave all that."

"He's a Potter," George answered thoughtfully, "and everyone thinks the Potters are pretty out of it, you know."

"-mum hasn't moved since we found it," Ron was saying and Arthur moved through the crowded room to get to his wife.

"Molly?" he whispered. She was sitting on the bed, staring at something beneath the pillow that he couldn't see. "Molly?" He moved closer.

"Arthur, there's more money here than I've seen in a long time," she murmured, hands raking the bed.

Arthur looked down in confusion and froze.

So much money.

*

"What are we going to do?" Molly asked awhile later, down in the kitchen. "We can't keep it."

Arthur shook his head. "Don't ask me," he replied tiredly. "Did he say anything before he left?"

She stopped. "A-Arthur! He said that You-Know-Who was..." When he finally coaxed it from her, Arthur nearly fainted from shock, not only from the news but also from everything that had happened. In the end, the two made their decision and went to the fire, tossing some Floo into the flames.

"The Ministry."

*

"Mr. Weasley, you're back." His secretary looked over to the person beside him. "And Mrs. Weasley. Such a surprise-"

"Is the Minister still here?" he asked. Wordlessly, she nodding, pointing down the hall towards the conference room.

"They're still here?" Molly shook her head. "But it's been over an hour since you left-"

"They like to argue."

The walls around the conference room had been protected with a soundproofing barrier so it was a surprise when Arthur opened the door to get nearly knocked over from the noise.

"DON'T ARGUE WITH ME!!" the Minister shouted, pointing a finger at the red-faced Auror. The other heads looked dead on their feet--not mentioning nearly deaf. Everyone looked at the entering Arthur in shock. "Arthur, I thought you had an emergency."

"Gentlemen, yesterday in Diagon Alley, my family and I met and brought home with us young Harry and Leonard Potter," Arthur broke out. "He was alone and we were shocked to even see him and his brother. Everyone knows that the Potters have been in hiding for almost all of the past decade. I was concerned, at first, that we should first contact the Ministry because of the Potters' questionable reputation, but my wife convinced me that such action wasn't needed."

He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Then, this morning, Harry told my wife some startling news that I felt deserved your attention."

The Minister looked suitably confused and motioned for Molly to continue. "He--Harry, I mean--told me that You-Know-Who was gone."

Instantly, the semi-calm interrupted.

"What?" the Auror sneered. "Gone? How is that possible?"

"There hasn't been any recent attacks on the Dark Forces," the Head of Defense shouted out.

"My Aurors haven't said anything that would indicate that-"

"Absolutely ridiculous-"

"How would a boy know this-"

The Minister hit the table and, as the dead of the government, the room went quiet. True, the heads grumbled but they shut up. "Now, exactly what did Mr. Potter say?" the Minister asked.

"He said... I think his exact words were 'You-Know-Who has been dead or as close to it for the past two days. The Death Eaters are turning themselves in because He isn't there to back them up.'" She licked her lips and nodded. "Yes, that was it."

The heads started again but the Minister glared them down. He rubbed his chin and murmured, "It does fit."

"Sir?"

"In the past few days, the Death Eaters have been coming in, haven't they?" he asked and everyone nodded. "Now, never before has the Dark Lord allowed traitors to live. Before, if someone came in, there was always something that happened that killed them. Plus, there haven't been any attacks." He rubbed his chin again. "I think I'll believe this Potter."

"There was two minor attacks," the head Auror reminded thoughtfully. His eyes were getting wider. "And there were remains--there were identifiable remains!" He jumped up. "I've go to check this out."

"Let's all come," the Minister said (ordered) and everyone followed the Auror down to the labs.

"In the second of the twin attacks," the Auror was explaining, "there was some remains left--burned, yes, but not burned so completely that we can't identify them." He stopped before a giant glass window, magically clean, and everyone there could see the Lab Wizards working with their samples. "It's surprising, because as you all know, the Dark Lord's followers always use the stronger fire spells to completely burn away any bodies. We should be able to find--there!"

On the other side of the window, a witch in white robes who looked like she'd been meditating sat up with a shock. On the table before her were two dark piles, dark piles that haunted every witch and wizard's minds. She picked up her wand and waved it, whispering some spell invented to counter the burning of bodies.

The ash lifted and began to twirl in the air like a black cloud. Bits and pieces began to settle down and soon every ash particle settled to the floor before melting upwards, meshing together to form two separate and recognizable bodies.

"Oh no..." Molly breathed, eyes beginning to water. "That's James and Lily."

The witch waved her wand again at the ashy bodies and they colored, forming exact replicas of their dead persons. Another wave and a single spark came from each body. The ashes fell back to the ground with the power of the spark but the witch seemed to be able to understand whatever it was the spark meant and wrote something on a piece of paper, signing it with her name.

The head Auror raised his own wand. "Accio report!" he ordered and the paper came flying through the glass. He skimmed the words and nodded slowly. "James and Lily Potter," he read and Molly gave a cry, raising her hand to her mouth. "Died... June 20, 1989. Age..."

Molly tuned the drone of facts out as she thought of Harry, all the subtle hints in his manner. "We need to find Harry," she declared firmly. The heads looked up at her in surprise and Arthur took her to the side.

"Molly, how?"

"The broom! We always put a locating charm on them, in case one of the children got lost."

"I still don't believe that this means the Dark Lord's been vanquished," one head sniffed.

The Auror turned on him. "If young Potter was with his parents at the time of the attack..." he murmured quietly. "Yet is here to tell the tale..."

"For once, you and I are in complete agreement," the Minister said with a nod. "There is only one explanation; the Dark Lord has met his match in either the dead Potters or the live ones, or some other explanation--but the end result is the same." He cracked a smile. "Tell the world to celebrate..."

"Not until we get some good, solid evidence!" someone exclaimed but the head Auror had turned away. He ignored the Minister's plans and looked to the distraught Weasleys. "We have to find those Potters."

*

Harry, in his animagus form, moved his back slightly, giving Leo a more comfy position. The year-old squealed and tugged at Harry's forming antlers. Harry winced and bit tighter on the bag he carried in his mouth.

The broom was several miles away, abandoned. He pushed the thought out of his mind, trying his tiring muscles again as he pushed on. It was late evening now, and he was hundred of miles away from the Burrow yet still nearly a hundred more miles away from Remus's house.

Leo let out a cry that Harry recognized as his 'hungry' cry and stopped, slowly kneeling down so that Leo rolled off his back without hurting himself. They'd done it all day and now Leo was enjoying the ride. Harry sighed and melted back into his human form, wincing as his bruises showed themselves.

"Hawy, hun, hun," Leo made a move for the bottle but it was empty. His face wrinkled and he began to sniffle.

"No, no, shh." Harry rummaged through the miniaturized contents in his bag and pulled out some soft food. Leo didn't trust it at first but Harry urged the baby food and finally Leo took a bite.

They lay in a small field surrounded by flower. Cotton puffs floated in the air, catching the sun so that it looked like many small fairies, winking in and out of existence. After he was full, Leo stood--much better at the whole balance thing--and started to chase after them with his awkward baby steps, laughing and giggling in happiness.

Harry grabbed some flower petals and threw them at his brother. Leo fell over, not expecting the small petals to hit him, and looked over with an angry look. Harry could only laugh, and it hurt to laugh or smile after so long. He let out a breath and found that Leo had started pulling up weeds, chucking them at him.

"Leo!"

"Hawy!"

"Hey," more weeds and chunks of grass hit Harry and he spat them out, much to Leo's amusement as they year-old doubled over in laughter.

"Think that's funny?" Harry grabbed more flowers and chucked them right back at his brother. Leo tried to duck but ended up falling right over again.

"No!" Leo protested, pointing a finger at Harry. "No!"

"No? Why can't I do that if you can?"

"No!" Leo repeated and stumbled over to Harry, stuffing grass in his mouth. "No! Bad!"

"Leo? Ahh!"

Hours later, when night had fallen again and Leo walked tiredly beside him, Harry walked up the steps to the small house in the middle of nowhere. He paused, a hand raised to knock, and looked down at Leo, suddenly unsure. But Leo yawned and slumped forward, leaning against the door in exhaustion.

He knocked. When Remus opened the door he nearly had to catch Leo and Harry wasn't too far from collapsing as well.

"Harry?"

Harry blinked at the person in front of him, gave a small, "Hello," and fell over.

__


	9. Chapter VIII

****

Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

__

"I suppose that depends on how you look at it," Meg said. "Usually no matters what happens people think it's my fault, even if I have nothing to do with it at all. But I'm sorry I tried to fight him. It's just been an awful week. And I'm full of bad feeling."

Mrs. Murry stroked Meg's shaggy head. "Do you know why?"

"I hate_ being an oddball," Meg said._

A Wrinkle In Time, Madeleine L'Engle

****

Chapter VIII

Harry had grown up for the first nine years of his life nine years of his life with an overpowering sense of foreboding that hung over him. At times, he could almost forget it as he played with his father, as he was rocked in his mother's arms or as he spent times with the Death Eaters friends. But just as there were times when he could almost forget about the feeling, there were times when he felt like he was drowning in shadowy fears.

"You really need to be happier," his mum had chided him playfully during one of those times when he crawled up to her and clung to her legs. She picked him up, holding him to her hip and did a little dance around their kitchen, freeing all his fears. When he started to laugh, she smiled and flicked his nose with one of her nails. "See? If you're happy, you don't have time to be scared."

Days after that, she'd caught sight of him playing wizarding chess with a Death Eater and had his father looking for a new home.

The first nine years had also been shrouded in secrecy. Harry never asked questions, never wondered why they always moved. Once, they had just moved into a beautiful hotel, planning on staying a few days while touring Europe and as his mum and dad were walking in a man came running up with the angriest look on his face.

__

"James! Is that you?" the man demanded, grabbing dad's arm.

Dad glared at the man and yanked his arm back. "Excuse me, sir, but I--" Then he stopped, face going pale. "Mitchell? Mitchell Flout?"

Mitchell sneered and stepped back. "Well, you're looking well." Mitchell, on the other hand, was missing his left arm.

"My gosh, Mitchell, what happened?"

"What, this?" The man waved the stump that ended his arm where his hand should've been. "Or this?" He pointed to the multiple scars mutating his face and torso. "The war, James. The war you've been avoiding_!"_

Mum had brought him inside but the yelling seemed trapped in his head for days afterwards. He had been the full age of five or so at the time, old enough to recognize hate but too young to understand exactly what had happened. War? What war? There was no war going on, no fighting or dying or crying. Not in his world. No, his world was perfect--small, but perfect.

His world consisted of four consistencies and a whirlpool of chaos. First and foremost, his parents loved him and nothing could change that. Then there was Remus, who'd always be there if his mum and dad weren't. And the people in dark cloaks who hid their faces but who were his friends, his friends that his parents didn't like. The last consistency was that as soon as someone saw his friends, or something like what happened at that hotel happened, the family would move. Nothing else came into Harry's world, nothing else bothered him and for him, that was enough.

The chaos came in many faces: people coming up to his parents, obviously old friends or at least acquaintances who often started loud fights; wizards and witches walking around in broad daylight, too hurt and broken to give a rat's tail what the muggles thought; late-night lessons with mum about magic or early-morning flying sessions with dad. There were also times when Harry was shaken awake late at night to be pulled from his house, taken away in his mother's arms while a horrible screeching noise slowly became overwhelming. Those nights were marked by burning skies tattooed with green marks and screams... screams that never let the living alone.

Dad would always stay behind and sometimes mum would hide Harry then go back to help but rarely did that happen because she loved him too much, the first consistency of his life. Each morning after, when Harry awoke to find himself in a strange hotel or motel, when Harry awoke to hear his parents whispering in another room, he'd see the tell-tell signs of a battle in the hurting wounds of his father, but never did it connect those battles with the war that the people often spoke of when they began to yell.

His life was shrouded in secrecy; Harry never asked questions because after awhile he realized he wasn't getting answers. The moving and constant hiding became the last consistency and he never questioned it afterwards. He never knew why sometimes mum and dad got called away because Remus would never tell him why--the times Remus could come at all. 

The first time Harry had been left alone for the night while his parents got called away left him with nightmares for days after. The kitchen floor creaked because someone was trying to sneak in, the tree branch that always hit the window was really the sound of an evil demon trying to break the glass, dripping water from the leaky facet was a signal for the evil man, the evil man without a name that his parents always whispered about, it was a signal for the man that Harry was alone and vulnerable.

It was during that first time alone that Harry truly came to accept the Death Eaters, as his parents called them, as a consistency because halfway through the night, when he was crying to himself beneath his bed, they came in and comforted him. From then on until the night his parents died, they'd come in whenever Harry was left alone or left alone with Leo, comforting Harry and chasing away the nightmares.

Their betrayal of him was worse than a slap in the face for a crime he didn't do. He'd never trust them again. He'd never trust anyone as well again.

Remus. The second consistency but not as consistent as Harry needed him to be. The man who came in the days to joke with his parents, who always found them when they moved, who always made Harry smile. The man who sent candy, who was there for every birthday with something special, who was always so tired but never too tired. The man who's secret Harry had discovered one night, the curse of the werewolf. The man who sometimes couldn't come, who sometimes wasn't there, who sometimes fell asleep when he was supposed to be watching Harry, letting the scary noises become demons again.

The man was his father's best friend but he was also Harry's best friend, whenever he was there. That's why Harry could think of no place else to go. Simply, because as every other consistency became trapped in that whirlpool of chaos, there truly wasn't.

*

"So, tell us again about this prophecy," the hooded Auror started, her quill magically floating, ready to take note of every word the confessing Death Eater was about to utter.

The Death Eater, stripped down to his underwear and shivering violently in the chill of the dank dungeons, nodded eagerly, ready to give up anything for the chance to get away scot-free of his crimes.

"_And the Stag will grace the forest fields, battling against the night and day..._"

"That's all very well and good but I'm afraid that you're going to have to give me something more," the Auror droned, lifting her hands to check her fingernails. "What good is a useless prophecy?"

"It-it was given by Aberforth."

"And?"

The ex-Death Eater gulped at her apathy and struggled to recall all that he'd heard while in his master's service. "I, I can tell you who the people are, who their son is," he croaked.

She sat up, instantly alert but still managing an unconcerned air. "You'll have evidence, of course?"

He nodded.

"Good. So speak."

"It's, it's the Potters, James and Lily-"

"What am I concerned about traitors?" she shot out.

But he shook his head. "They're not traitors, but they are those mentioned, the 'stag' and 'flower.'"

"Explain." So he did and Rita Skeeter, listening under the hood of an Auror's mask, smiled triumphantly. The Potters were already being given the credit of being Voldemort's downfall and it this pathetic goon's words were true, then that Potter kid was about to be made history.

*

Harry woke up, dreading what he'd find. The past few days, waking up hadn't brought anything good to the world. His legs and arms ached from running all day and the night's sleep didn't seem to have helped him any. He still felt dead tired and wanted nothing more than to go straight back to sleep. And so he rolled over, planning on doing just that.

Leo was laughing somewhere, making Harry nearly jump out of bed. 

'Where am I? Where's Leo? What happened?'

His brain spun and his vision blurred as he stood up, making him clutch at the bed he'd just stood from, holding a hand to his forehead. He started towards the door but exhaustion hit and he promptly fainted.

__

His mum was waiting for him but even as she stood still, she got farther and farther away, pulled away by an invisible torrent. "Harry, you're taking too long," her ghostly voice called to him. Abruptly, she changed, melting down to a flower that beckoned to him with its petals. "You're taking too long."

"Come on son," a stag was telling him, pushing at him with its antlers. "It's time to go. It's time to go."

"Ok," he replied, sounding like he stood at a great distance. His arms waved, leaving ripples in the murky air. "I'm coming." A great wolf bounded by, nipping at Harry's fingers until Harry fell to the ground, becoming a wolf himself and chasing the other away. The air trembled and broke away with his change, leaving an empty space that sucked in the air.

"Wait for me!" he called but the wolf ran away, leaping into the air to disappear.

A crying drew his attention but every time he turned, he only faced himself, a darker version that smirked at his struggling. This other self drew forward and slapped his cheek.

"Wake up, brother." The reflection changed and instead of green eyes, it had golden ones. Its face shrunk until it had become Leo, crying for his mother. Harry leaned over and picked the baby up but Leo only fell apart, ashes drifting away into the darkness that had consumed everything else. Harry watched the ashes float away and fell to his knees, crying.

Remus ran a shaking hand through his hair, looking into the darkened room and seeing no change in the sleeping child resting there. He walked in and carefully tucked the blankets closer to Harry, noting with concern that Harry was shaking in his sleep, little tears coming from his eyes. "Harry?"

Harry sniffed and rolled over, still asleep. Remus wiped the tears away as he sat on the bed's edge, watching his best friend's son and wondering what had happened. Harry whimpered and rolled into a ball but still sleep so Remus let his hand drift beside Harry's face for a moment before leaving, keeping the door a crack as he went back downstairs.

Leo was having a blast, obviously having recovered his energy from his sleep and using that newly recovered energy to drive Remus insane. The werewolf smiled but ducked as Leo sent a small creature, a stuffed unicorn, flying his way.

"Hey!" Remus made a face that sent Leo spiraling into another fit of laughter.

"Moo-y, hunwy," Leo complain, patting at his stomach.

"Hungry, are you?" Remus asked, scooping Leo up and heading towards the kitchen. Leo nodded seriously. "Well, why don't we go find something for you to eat?"

After breakfast (a jar of warm baby food) Leo yawned and wiped at his eyes, getting tired from eating so much. Remus smiled again and walked upstairs, rocking Leo as he opened the door and placed him down beside his sleeping brother. "Now, go to sleep," he ordered, shaking a finger. "And don't wake up Harry." He didn't need to worry because Leo rolled next to his big brother and popped a thumb in his mouth, closing his eyes and falling asleep.

Remus checked up on Harry worriedly but he was still sleeping so Remus left the two Potters to sleep, walking back downstairs.

Harry woke again, stretching slightly and shaking his head to get rid of the strange dreams. A weight against his side was Leo, curled up against him. Harry smiled wearily, brushing some thick black strands of hair away from Leo's eyes. On the bed stand he found his glasses, putting them on as the door opened.

Remus walked in, looking stressed and tired but when he saw Harry, the werewolf brightened. "Harry, you're awake."

Harry nodded, yawning and wiping the sand from his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Just before lunch, actually," the werewolf joked, sliding a chair up beside the bed. "How was your sleep? You nearly missed out on my special." Harry looked down at his hands. "Harry, what happened? How'd you get here?"

"I'm sorry if I woke you," Harry blurted out. "But there was no where else to go and-"

"No, you didn't wake me Harry," Remus cut in gently. Harry didn't look up. "How'd you get that scar?"

Harry shrugged, absently bringing his hand up to rub against his marred skin. His green eyes fazed up a moment as he recalled the Death Curse, racing towards him, brushing against his skin, trying to suck his soul out before simply vanishing. "I don't know. Maybe I fell."

Remus looked unconvinced and for a moment Harry was afraid the werewolf would start sprouting out the 'dark magic caused that' speech that Fletcher guy had, but instead he just repeated,"What happened? Where are your parents?"

"Dead."

"WHAT!"

Leo gave a soft cry, curling his legs beneath the blankets and Remus continued in a quieter voice. "Harry?"

"A-a few days ago," Harry explained softly, tonelessly. "W-we were looking for a new house and got attacked. Peter was there-"

"Peter!"

Harry nodded and looked up for the first time, eyes showering pain. "No one else knows," he whispered. "They don't care either. I heard them saying they found out about the attack, but they don't think it's really important and-"

"Shh," Remus reached over and grabbed Harry in a hug. "Harry, it's... oh..." A soft wetness hit Harry's head and he realized that Remus was crying even as his own tears wetted his cheeks. In a heartless voice, Harry related that night's events, changing it so that it seemed that he and Leo had been outside the house, playing, when the Death Eaters appeared and that he remembered nothing until the next morning, waking in the cold hours and finding his parents dead.

'It's better,' he thought to himself as he sobbed into Remus's arms, releasing all the pain he'd kept inside. 'It's better that no one knows.'

He cried until his eyes were to heavy, his heart too cold, and his body too tired, crying until exhaustion took over again and sent him drifting back into darkness.

__

"Why did you hit me?" Leo asked, words erupting from his baby lips in adult manner.

Harry sat in a field of red flowers and brown stags, brushing the petals away from his brother. "I didn't hit you."

"Then did I hit you?" Leo asked, getting up and walking with perfect balance to touch Harry's new scar. "No," his voice changed to that of Fletcher's, outside the apartment building. "Only really dark magic could leave something like that. Did you do it yourself? Are you a dark wizard?" His voice changed back ."Why does it look like a lightening bolt?"

"I don't know," Harry replied honestly. "But I didn't hit you."

Leo's face darkened and he grew in height until he looked exactly like Harry. "Yes you did!" he yelled. "You were jealous of me! You hate me!"

"No I don't," Harry objected softly, still brushing red flower petals off of his brother's feet. As his hand touched them, the petals broke out into flames, burning the entire field. The stags jumped back and forth, playing jump-rope with the burning flowers that danced in their death. Harry didn't care, he only knew that Leo wouldn't like the flower petals on his feet and he kept brushing them away, brushing them, brushing-

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry blinked his heavy eyes. The heavy draped hanging from the windows had been pulled down, letting the dying sun's rays into the room. Leo was on the floor, playing in a puddle of heavy curtains. He had probably pulled them down himself.

Remus was sitting in the same chair, crying sadly but smiling as Leo played with little toys, reminded the werewolf of his old friend.

Harry watched them for a moment then asked in a soft voice, "Why did they leave us?"

Remus jerked up but shook his head when he saw Harry. "I don't know. But I'm glad-"

"They probably knew it would hurt worse," Harry bit out to himself, getting angry. Leo looked up, sensing his brother's changing moods. "They knew how, how much it hurts to live, remembering that they're dead, live knowing that they'll never come back." His eyes shut and his fists clenched the blankets fast. "It hurts, Remus..."

"Don't speak like that Harry," Remus ordered gently, getting up and taking the blankets away, uncurling his fists. "Don't ever think that it's better to die--it isn't."

"But it hurts so much, Remus," Harry sobbed, throwing himself at the werewolf.

Remus bowed his head, arms holding the shaking Harry. "I know," he whispered, voice full of emotion. "I know." Harry felt himself slipping again and fought to stay awake.

"I miss my mum," he murmured drowsily. "And my dad. I really miss them, Remus."

"Shh," Remus pulled away and looked at Harry, wiping the tears away. "I know you do. So do I," and his voice cracked. "You'll probably miss them forever, but they're gone Harry, and you have to let go." He convinced Harry to get something to eat, but decided not to let Harry leave the bed least he suddenly collapse again.

Remus went downstairs, promising to be right back with something warm to eat, and Harry crawled back into bed. It bounced and Leo crawled in with him, curling back into his side and fingering Harry's wet face in fascination. "Hawy mad?" he asked and Harry shook his head. "Hawy sad? Hawy sad at me?"

"Harry sad," he replied softly, "but not at you, Leo. Harry sad because."

The doorbell rang and Leo looked up, startled, so Harry started to tickle him, making him screech.

"One second!" Remus called. Leo quieted as Harry stopped, both listening closely. The door opened and Harry immediately recognized the voice of his Auror godfather:

"R-Remus! J-James and Lily," the man was sobbing so loudly that it echoed upstairs. "James-"

Remus murmured something and Harry crouched out of bed, leaning against the door to catch the words. Leo followed with much more noise, poising in a humorous copy of his big brother. "Leo, don't you want to play with your toys?" Harry whispered. Leo looked a moment but went and did as told, picking up his toys and playing with them as Harry went forward, crawling out to the top stairs and listening in on the conversation.

"They found them... at some muggle village," Sirius was muttering, voice deep with mourning. He was collapsed on a couch, hugging a pillow to his chest. "At a muggle village, Remus! I-I didn't even know--they were there for three days before anyone realized who it was-"

"Sirius, calm down-"

"Calm down! Remus, I just realized that my best friend, my two best friends are dead! Dead! And I wasn't there--I was never there--I hadn't seen them for so long. Remus, I hadn't seen them for so long. I planned on it, kept planning on it. I was supposed to go visit them--I even go a sign. Two days ago, I saw Harry and Leo. In Diagon Alley! And I let them go. What if they were ghosts, trying to tell me something? I-"

"Sirius," Remus looked pained and glanced up the stairs but didn't see Harry. "Sirius, please-" But Sirius was back to sobbing silently into his pillow and Remus stood with a sigh. "You need to drink something. Wait right here."

"I was Harry's godfather," the Auror whispered. "But I hadn't seen him--and Leo! He's only a year old. I-" Remus walked out into the kitchen, leaving Sirius to mourn himself.

Harry himself couldn't agree more. What kind of godfather was this man, this Auror? He made up his mind and started walking downstairs, thinking up a thousand words made to hurt, made to make Sirius see how much he missed.

Just as he entered the room, ready to speak, Sirius looked up and paled to the point of being transparent. "J-James?" he whispered. Harry shook his head. "Harry?" Harry nodded but couldn't speak when Sirius nearly flung himself across the room, grabbing Harry in a tight hug. "Oh Harry, I'm so sorry! I swear, I never meant to leave you alone, leave your parents alone."

"I-"

He couldn't speak for the next few minutes as Sirius practically spilled out his soul, begging for forgiveness from what he thought was the ghost of his godson, come back to haunt him. Remus walked in. "Sirius, that's Harry."

"-I just thought that I could help the fight, stop the war-"

"Sirius!"

"-I didn't mean for you to die, Harry-"

"Sirius!" Remus walked up and yanked the man back, freeing a grateful Harry. "Look," he pointed at Harry. "That is Harry, the real Harry. Not a ghost, not a mirage or hallucination."

"Wh-How is that possible?"

"Something happened the night James and Lily died," Remus explained in a shaking voice. "Harry and Leo are fine. They're both here-"

"This, this isn't some sick joke?" Sirius asked.

"No-"

"Harry!" Sirius launched himself at Harry again, grabbing him up in another tight hug. "This is my second chance! This is my chance to prove myself! I swear I'll be a better godfather! I'll do everything for you, you'll never have to worry about anything again. I'll get you a great house, take care of Leo, do the laundry even. I'll never let you out of my sight!"

Harry struggled to get free. "You're going to kill me!" he gasped, grunting with effort. Sirius stopped squeezing and Harry pulled himself away, eyes shaded with mistrust. "And what are you talking about? I'm not going anywhere."

"Harry-"

"No!" Harry shouted, silencing Sirius. He pointed at Remus. "I'm staying with Remus-"

"But I'm your godfather."

"But Remus was always there for me, for my every birthday," Harry reminded harshly.

"I'll be better this time, Harry. I'll get you a new broom for your next birthday, send you on a cruise, take you around the world--whatever you want."

Harry shook his head, arms crossed against his chest. "No."

Sirius's mouth gaped open and he looked between the stubborn Harry to the shocked Remus who obviously didn't expect this latest twist. Finally, he swallowed and announced, "Then I'm staying here, too."

"What?" Remus yelped.

"I can't leave Harry alone," Sirius stated at the now ver suspicious Harry. "I'm not going to leave him or Leo again. They're... they're all I have left. Please, Remus."

Leo walked out to the top stair and started to cry so Harry left, giving Sirius a look before getting upstairs and shutting the door behind him and Leo.

"What a kid," Sirius muttered wearily, falling back into the couch. He stared up at the ceiling a while before asking, "Was he there, when it happened?"

Remus hesitated, glancing up the stairs before allowing, "I think so, but he won't tell me. He just says that he was unconscious, waking up to find the battle over."

"I really meant what I said," Sirius choked out. "About meaning to visit them... but there was always another emergency, another situation. This war hasn't been getting any better, Remus, and I was _needed_."

"I understand that," Remus replied. "But Harry doesn't. James and Lily made it so that Harry didn't have any idea what's been going on. The way he sees it, you were too busy to drop in."

"How were they?" Sirius swallowed. "When you last saw them?"

"Happy," came the short reply. "And still in love, not only with themselves but with their kids." Remus handed Sirius a glass of water, reminiscing.

"They were always so happy," Sirius said drowsily. "Always... but then, they didn't have to deal with all the shit that's happening. Not like I think they were traitors or something-"

"You really think that James and Lily would just abandon us?" Remus scoffed. "No, they were working--undercover and under different names, but working and fighting just the same. That's why Harry can get to stubborn sometimes."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, whenever James went on a mission, he usually called me and I watched the kids, but sometimes I couldn't so once Harry got old enough, he was left in charge. Harry's almost completely independent, I think."

"How's Leo? Anything special about him?"

Remus stared at Sirius. "Of course! Both of them are very special, and Leo's pretty smart for his age. Why, you think he's stupid or something?"

"Remus, I didn't mean it that way," Sirius protested. "I didn't mean to sound like some...some...whatever. It's just that... " Cautiously, Sirius described what he could remember of the prophecy he'd heard ten years before, talking of the importance of the second son. "I figured that they were moving around because of that prophecy or something-"

"By the Light," Remus's eyes were wide. "It, it makes sense now. They kept moving because You-Know-Who kept sending Death Eaters over to their house, not to bother them but to watch them. James and Lily didn't take lightly to it-"

"But if they already had their second son, why'd You-Know-Who wait a year?" Sirius asked.

"Probably so he wouldn't have to put up with a baby."

Sirius sat back down onto the couch and sighed. "I really missed a lot, haven't I?"

Remus tossed a pillow at his friend. "Yes, but now you've got a chance not to miss anything anymore."

"Thanks." Sirius said sincerely and the two friends spent the rest of the evening laughing at old jokes, old experiences as the Marauders at Hogwarts, crying at sadder times but getting over their friends' deaths by relieving all the times they'd had together.

*

Leo stopped crying once Harry picked up him, flinging his arms about his older brother.

"Shh." Harry picked up a toy. "Do you want to play?" Leo shook his head fiercly. "Are you hungry?" Another shake. "Tired?" No. "Well, what do you want?"

"Mummy," Leo replied promptly, almost expectantly like he really thought his mother would just appear at his wish.

Harry sighed. "Mum's not here right now."

"Daddy."

"No, he's not here either."

Confused, Leo pulled away and looked into Harry's eyes.

"Why don't you play?" Harry urged. "Maybe," his voice cracked, "maybe they'll come back when you're playing." Leo tilted his head to the side but crawled down and went back to his toys.

Tiredly, Harry went back to his bed, lying down in a position to watch his brother while resting. "No one understands me, do they Leo?" The baby looked up in confusion. "They think... Sirius thinks he can just walk back in here and take me away, like I'm going to trust an Auror."

He stood and walked around, rubbing his neck as his anger worked up. Leo stood up from his toys, watching his brother. Finally, Harry sat back down with another sigh. "Why'd they betray me, Leo?" he asked, pleading for an answer from the year-old. "I-I really thought they were my friends, really thought... really thought that dad was wrong when he said... but he was right!"

Harry covered his eyes but found his glasses in the way so he pulled them off, holding them with one hand while the other rubbed his eyes viciously. "I-I should've done more, Leo. It's all my fault--if I had tried to fight Voldemort before, then maybe mum and dad could've gotten away, could've lived. I should've done more," he repeated to himself, lower and slower.

Seeing the glasses, Leo gave a squeal and started for them, plucking them out of Harry's hands to play with. Harry grabbed them back angrily and, in a fit of anger, hurled them across the room with a snarl. They smashed against the wall, shattering and spreading their broken glass along the floor. Harry felt a slight twinge in his scar but ignored it, glaring at the broken glass frames that lay against the wall like a beaten pup.

Leo's cried broke his attention and Harry looked down to see his younger brother, crying loudly in fear, clutching to his legs, blubbering onto the jeans and leaving wet stains. Leo looked up, golden eyes misty with tears, asking 'why did you scare me?'

"Oh Leo, I'm sorry," Harry immediately apologized but Leo was still bawling. "Shh, it's alright. I'm not mad at you." But Leo kept looking back to the broken glass. "Here-"

Harry took out his wand and waved it at the glasses, muttering "Repairo." The glasses curled together, calling back its shattered pieces, and soon were fixed. Harry let out a bark of bitter laughter, realizing just how blind he was, how helpless he was without the things he'd just tried to destroy.

Leo crawled down and reached out, picking up the glasses with a sniff. His fear turned to fascination and he twirled the frames in a hand, starting to smile again.

"I'm sorry, Leo," he apologized again but the babe was already back to playing, adding the glasses to his collection of toys. Leo paused, however, and looked up to Harry with such a look that Harry almost fell down. "I'm so sorry, and I promise I'll never leave you. I'll make sure that you're happy, that you're life is good even if mine's not. I'll always be here for you Leo."

Leo grinned and held out Harry glasses. "Hawy!"

"I promise."

*

The Minister ran an eye over the upcoming article for the Daily Prophet and looked up at the editor unbelievingly. "You're actually going to publish this... this rubbish?"

"Rubbish?" the editor repeated, shaking his head. "My dear Minister, this is actual prophecy. If you want anymore evidence, you can go ahead and look around--nearly every other Seer in the world is sprouting out this same nonsense, even that old bat down in Hogwarts. And none of them remember a word of it, meaning that not only is this prophecy true, it's about to happen--or already has."

The Minister looked down and reread the paper, face unreadable. "You really think the people are going to believe this?"

"Not only believe it, but many will probably devote themselves to this future 'savior,' as they are already calling him."

"'They' meaning you."

The editor smiled. "Of course." The Minster looked back down, obviously fighting an urge to just throw the pre-paper edition away and be rid of the whole matter. "The only reason I came down and showed you this before its release is that you may want to concern yourself with finding this Potter and assure the Ministry's position with him. Send him gifts, bake him a birthday cake--anything that shows that the Ministry will support the people in their beliefs."

"And what happens if this predicted craze suddenly goes away?"

"Then you can quietly back down. But the only way people will stop worshipping this Potter kid straight out is if he suddenly dies or disappears, something that the Ministry should assure will not happen."

The Minister looked down at the paper again then wearily rolled his shoulders. "The Dark has finally fallen and instead of celebrating like I should, I'm sitting in my office talking over financial ties I should make."

"Don't worry about the celebrating," the editor assured him. "Everyone else is doing more than their share. The muggles are going crazy but they'll forget all about the falling stars that came instead of the rain, all about the owls that swooped around like common sparrows, all about the robed people celebrating with drinks and shouts in the middle of the streets-"

"Good lord, tell me that hasn't happened," the Minister groaned.

The editor smiled and comfortingly slapped his old friend on the back. "Don't worry, they'll forget all about it in a month. I said they would and if anyone knows people, it's me."

The Minister rolled his eyes but got up from his desk. "I'll do what you said, about the Potter kid. Our Aurors have already tracked him down to an old werewolf's house and tomorrow, you can go down there with all you little cameras and annoying reporters-"

The editor chuckled and they left, not knowing that later that evening the Minster would be poisoned as a last-ditch Death Eater attack, nor knowing that his successor was one bumbling baboon, one who would promote Leo's fame in an effort to uphold his own status. But if they did, neither would care because one had had too much war to deal with and was quite ready to move on and the other knew he would profit and wasn't about to protest against that.


	10. Chapter IX

****

Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

__

Suddenly the boy's heart's missed a beat. On the off hind heel there was a white spot. It was no bigger than an almond, but it was there! The white spot--the emblem of swiftness! --

"The wheat ear!" Signor Achmet's voice broke. "It foretells evil. The droning of the bittern last night warned me. The yellow-eyed owl warned me. Ill luck will attend the colt's days. Ill luck will hang low over the royal stables."

His eyes fixed on the foal's chest, he got slowly to his feet, drawing the saber at his belt.

Agba smothered a cry. Unmindful of his own safety, he thrust himself between Signor Achmet and the foal. He fell to his knees, lifting the tiny foal whose legs beat a tattoo in the air. With a look of triumph, he pointed at the white spot on the off hind heel.

Signor Achmet's eyes narrowed. His brows came together in a black line. Agba could see him weighing the two in his mind--the white spot against the wheat ear. The good sign against the bad. The scales tipped even.

King of the Wind, Marguerite Henry

****

Chapter IX

Leo was outside playing, flying as high as he dared on his broom and mentally daring himself to fly higher, when he heard the shouts. With a sigh, he floated back down to a reasonable height, wanting to go see what the matter was about but really already knowing.

Harry was fighting with Sirius again. If Leo went anywhere close to the two, Harry would simply walk away even if he were in the middle of a sentence or winning the argument. His big brother was weird like that, preferring to just walk away than to fighting in Leo's sight.

Leo even knew what the argument was about: summer was almost over, so another term of Hogwarts was about to start and it would be yet another year that Harry refused to go.

Leo leaned down on his broom, letting one leg swing beneath the rest of him while he absently took out a ball and threw it in the air, catching it on its way down and repeating the motion over and over again, subconsciously increasing his reflex speed while consciously passing the time, counting down the minutes before Harry got to be too much and Sirius tried to punish him.

Remus was out, so there was really no way to stop the conflict from escalating. The shouting got louder and, from the snippets Leo could catch, more vicious. When Harry wanted to, he could belittle even Remus to a rage.

Finally, the front door slammed open, just as Leo knew it would, and he swung up on his broom to see his brother storming towards him but as Harry got closer, he lost his anger. "You should stop yelling," Leo chided, waving a finger.

Harry paused. "You heard?" Leo rolled his eyes like the answer was obvious. "Sorry, Leo."

"It's a'right," Leo excused him with a wave. "Play with me?"

"Play?" Leo nodded so Harry summoned his broom from the garage and flew up in the air. "Sure. What are you going to be this time?"

"Catcher!" Leo announced wildly throwing his arms in the air.

Harry smiled. "You mean 'keeper?'" With a shrug, Leo nodded. "Alright, but I'm not going to go easy on you, even if you are my little brother."

"Course!"

Harry was dark and mysterious to Leo, the perfect image of a big brother. His skin was tanned to a golden brown from hours spent outside and his hair was about as tamed as he was, meaning that a lion tamer would be afraid to approach either. Sometimes, Harry would let Leo join him on his adventures outside but whenever he did, Leo got the dampening feeling that Harry purposely took him to the safer parts of the nearby forests.

Maybe it was because of how Leo looked: where Harry got mum's eyes, green and glittery, Leo got dad's golden eyes that shined like a million suns when he really wanted something. Where Harry's skin was tough and tanned well like dad's, Leo's was fair, pale like mum's had been. Uncle Sirius often said that he looked like Lily passed as many genes along to him to get back at Harry looking like James.

"Try to block this," Harry shouted, hundreds of feet in the air on his shining broom as he tossed the Quaffle towards the rings behind Leo, much softer than Leo knew he was capable of.

Leo snorted and easily deflected the ball, sending it spiraling to the right to make Harry dive down if he wanted to catch it. Harry seemed to drop from the air, catching said ball feet from the ground in a dangerous maneuver that Leo loved making him do. "Someday, I'm going to do that," he called out.

"Someday, you're going to get me killed," was the reply as the Quaffle was sent flying towards him again.

Leo never asked Harry why he spent so much time outside; it only seemed natural. Neither did he ask why Harry often sneaked outside, hours after their uncles had gone to sleep, just to look outside. The only reason Leo really knew he did it was because the window often let in a cool breath, waking him up.

There were also the times when Harry had the worst dreams. Leo sometimes had dreams like that, dreams of people screaming and lights flashing, but they were rare and muted, especially compared to what Harry went through. Once, Leo asked Harry what was wrong.

__

"Nothing," Harry replied quickly but Leo could tell his brother was lying.

"Tell me," he urged, smiling insanely at the possibility of being told a secret, being told something that Uncle Remus didn't know, that Uncle Sirius didn't know.

Harry ran a hand through his black hair and looked torn between telling his brother and keeping his secret. "Alright, but you have to promise not to tell anyone."

Leo grinned wider. He could get Harry to do anything_! "I promise," he promised with a sincerity that could be forgotten when the opportunity arose. "No one else."_

"Sometimes... sometimes I have really bad dreams," Harry said after a moment. "Really bad."

"Nightmares?"

Harry shook his head. "Worse than nightmares." Leo shivered at his tone and Harry immediately straightened. "Maybe I'll tell you later. When you're older."

"But Harry," Leo tugged at his shirt. "That's not fair. You said you're tell me now_!"_

"But you're not ready now," Harry countered softly. "You'll get scared and I don't want you to get scared. Do you?" Leo shivered again at the fierce truthfulness in his brother's face and sighed, giving in.

"Alright, but you better tell me later!"

Harry smiled and ruffled his hair. "Sure. I promise."

Leo really could get Harry to do anything he wanted. Like the time, when he was only four and had wanted to go flying, Harry took him up even after Uncle Sirius told him not to. Harry had gotten in lots of trouble for him, but he never complained.

Harry's time in the woods had given him his tanned skin, his quiet but forceful attitude, and had also gotten rid of all the baby fat that still cursed Leo's seven-year old body. Where Harry was tall and lean, Leo was still slightly chubby but in such a way that he was considered "absolutely adorable." Or at least that's what the newspapers thought.

He was adorable, sure, but everyone thought Harry was beautiful. That's what the newspapers said.

Leo felt a spark of jealousy. Everyone liked Harry better. He was so good in magic that he didn't even have to go to school--well, that was Leo's own fault but he wasn't about to admit that. With those thoughts in mind, Leo swung the broom around and sent it flying across the great backyard with a slamming move much more powerful than necessary.

Harry gave a cry and dropped from the sky, barely dodging the flying Quaffle. Immediately, Leo felt a wave of shame but ignored the thought. Harry wouldn't get mad at him. Harry was never mad at him. Besides, the papers said that he was supposed to be powerful. If Harry asked, he'd say it was an accident. But Harry would never ask, Harry loved him more than he loved anyone else.

Sure enough, Harry didn't say a word but his face was slightly troubled as he returned the Quaffle, going much softer than ever before and Leo couldn't hide his shame. Harry was probably trying to figure out what he'd done wrong, what he'd done to get Leo so angry. Harry always thought it was his fault, never Leo's, even when Leo specifically set him up to take the fall.

"Sorry," he yelled out. "My fault."

"You probably thought I could get it," Harry answered, instantly excusing Leo. "And I should have."

__

"Leo, did you spill your milk?"

"No, Harry did."

"But Leo," Sirius replied patiently, "Harry's outside."

"Ask him," Leo demanded. "He spilt it, I saw him!"

Sirius sighed but called Harry in. "Harry! Harry, could you come in here?"

Harry came in dutifully, clutching his broom. "Yes?"

Sirius sent a look to Leo, who had started feeling a bit guilty. Harry would rat on him for sure! "Harry, did you spill this milk?"

Harry glanced down at the floor to the glass of milk lying spilt beside Leo's leg and without a moment's hesitation answered, "Yes, I did."

"What?"

"Sirius, let him be," Remus ordered from across the room, reading the paper.

"No, Remus. I'm not going to let Harry take the blame for everything." Sirius looked straight at Harry and repeated, "Harry, did you spill this milk? And don't lie to me because I know you didn't."

"But I did," Harry protested.

Sirius shook his head and glanced at Leo. "Fine. Since you spilled the milk magically--because there's no other way you could have done it--you're grounded from using magic for a week."

"But Uncle Sirius, Harry was going to show me magic tonight," Leo reminded from the floor. "He has_ to use magic!"_

"Well, if you admit that you spilled the milk, then Harry won't get punished," Sirius replied airily, looking back and forth between Leo and Harry. Harry didn't reply, not willing to turn on his brother.

"I-"

"Fine," Harry cut Leo's confession off. "I won't use magic for a week." He took up the punishment without protest and looked down at Leo. "Uncle Remus can show you magic tonight, alright?" Leo nodded and Harry started towards the door when Sirius stopped him.

"Harry, flying requires magic, does it not?" He held out his hand for the broom and Harry looked upset for the first time.

"But that's fair," he protested. "I'm not consciously using magic-"

"But you are using magic," Sirius stated, looking at Leo.

Leo knew that this wasn't really a punishment for Harry--it was for him. He knew how much Harry loved to fly and now Sirius was going to take it away just because Harry was taking the punishment for him. For a second time, he opened his mouth to confess but again Harry stopped him.

"Fine," Harry repeated much more forcefully, keeping his anger down in the face of his brother. He threw the broom to the ground and walked outside again where he could vent his anger out of Leo's sight.

"That wasn't fair," Remus admonished.

Sirius sighed and sank into a sofa. "I know it wasn't, but Harry has to learn that if he keeps this up, keeps taking the blame for Leo, he's going to get punished. I wouldn't have punished Leo if he'd only said he spilt his milk. Now Harry's out there hating me again."

Leo went back to playing with his toys, trying to block out his uncle's voice. But his hands shook.

"I bet you can't make a goal at all!" Leo bragged, knowing that those words would ensure that exact victory.

Harry smiled from his distance and for a moment, Leo was struck, seeing another image superimposed over his brother. The other Harry looked exactly like his Harry did, but he wore glasses.

Harry had gotten rid of his glasses back when Leo was going through his terrible twos--or rather, Leo had gotten rid of them for him. Remus always laughed when he told the tale.

__

"Harry's glasses?" the werewolf repeated and Leo nodded so hard that his hair did a little dance. "Don't you remember?"

"'Member wha?"

"Here." Remus lead him to the old dresser full of his baby things; pictures, books, bottles, diapers, even toys too broken or old for him to play with anymore. "Let's see here..." Remus fished through the various items, digging out something to toss it right back. After a minute, he smiled success and pulled out an old frame of glasses, dusty, scratched, and utterly recognizable. "These what you looking for?"

"Glasses!" Leo squealed, grabbing at them.

Remus chuckled. "You don't remember but one night, when your teeth were coming in-"

"Buh Unk Remus, my tooth are a'ready in," Leo cut in, opening his mouth wide to show off his pearly teeth.

"I know, but not too long ago, you didn't have teeth."

"No!" Leo was aghast. No teeth? "How'da eat?"

"You drank a bottle and ate that baby food junk," Remus replied with a laugh at the face Leo made. "Tasted nasty but then again you really didn't care. So anyway, when you were getting your teeth one night, you were in such terrible pain that you wouldn't shut up. Nothing we did could get you to quiet down. Finally, Harry whips his glasses off his head and gives 'em to you, and you know what you did?"

"Wha?" Leo asked, fascinated by the story.

"You broke 'em!" Remus leaned back on his elbows and laughed. "Hardly held them for a second before they broke. Course, Harry fixed them up right away and I guess you were so surprised to see them fixed that you went right to bed. Wouldn't let go of them for nearly a month."

"Hawy doesn't need glasses?" Leo asked, frowning as he remembered a time when Harry couldn't do without them.

"Well, of course he needed them silly," Remus replied with a smile. "But since you wouldn't give them back, he just went without... them..." He frowned. "But, I would think that he'd take them back or at least get new ones."

Leo fingered the glasses, memories flowing into his mind.

Remus stood in deep thought. "Come to think of it, neither of us really noticed..." He walked off, hand on his chin, nearly bumping into a dresser but it hopped out of the way, its mirror telling him off.

No one had been able to pry Harry's secret out of him to find out exactly how he did without the glasses but eventually they realized that either A.) Harry was walking around half-blind and was simply used to it or B.) Harry's vision had miraculously (magically) fixed itself.

The Quaffle was heading his way and Leo realized that he was in the exact position to deflect this shot. His body was ready, his hands perfect--all that he need was to hit the ball when it came close enough. And when he realized it, Leo felt like laughing.

Harry had thrown it imperfectly and now Leo could hit it perfectly. Harry was like that. Maybe it was because the papers said that Leo was going to be the next Dumbledore, the next savior of the world--and had, in fact, already saved it from an evil wizard not too many years ago.

With a grin, Leo swung his broom out, hitting the Quaffle and watching it sail across the sky, watching Harry race after it. He needn't ever be jealous of Harry, he thought to himself, because Harry was always going to be second best, and probably already knew it. He needn't ever be jealous or spiteful towards Harry, because as far as Leo was concerned, Harry was just another of the many people who'd serve him when he came to power.

And when he did, he'd enjoy it.

*

Remus came home to find the boys playing outside and could almost imagine a happy family situation. He waved to them and they waved back. Now all he needed was the petite wife who'd welcome him home each evening with a kiss and a warm dinner cooking.

What he got... a best friend storming around the kitchen after yet another fight with the oldest of the boys, burning the food and smoking up the kitchen. Of course, the house elves were trying to distract him as they fixed the food so dinner would be no problem but the point was that Sirius was fuming.

Remus sighed. "You know," he said, tossing his coat on the floor where the Ministry-provided house elves hurriedly cleaned it up, "I can't wait 'til you get married and move out."

"Me?" Sirius snorted. "Not I. I plan on being one of those fabulously rich bachelors that own half the world and claim dibs on the other half."

"Really?" Remus raised an eyebrow. "Any reason why?"

"Because I swore to, as a Marauder," Sirius replied huffily, "and I keep my promises. Besides, if I do get married, I'll take my wife down to the doctor--against her will, if I must--and make sure that we never, never, _never_ have kids!"

"Oh, another fight with Harry?"

Sirius neatly slammed the fridge door shut and glared at Remus.

Remus rolled his eyes. "O-kaa... I see that was a rather obvious answer..."

"I swear, that kid's trying to drive me crazy," the other man stormed but Remus could sense a deep hurt in his friend's voice. "I mean, all I want is for him to loosen up some, you know? Stop being so uptight."

"Well what did you expect?" Remus asked with a tight smile. "An exact copy of James? Troublemaker, prankster, and altogether joker? He's not like James, Sirius. James never had to go through what Harry does, never had to go through life without parents and with the burden of a younger brother--a responsibility he takes very seriously."

"I know. It's just that... Sometimes, with the way he acts, I feel like I'm some sort of stranger in a house he's visiting; he tiptoes around me like he thinks I'm going to go ballistic on him. And whenever I get called out to catch some wanna-be dark wizard, he avoids me for days."

"You get called again?" Remus asked, changing the subject.

"Nah, but Figg warned that's something stirring in the old Death Eater department. Remember the Mark appearing at the World Cup?"

Remus shivered. How could he not? At the beginning of the summer, someone stole one of the Weasley kid's wand and called up the infamous Dark Mark over the skies after an insane night that evoked memories of the war. The kid had been taken in for questioning and after taking some truth serum, had been released as innocent.

"Dumbledore's even keeping in old Mad-Eye to teach the kids over at Hogwarts, even after all those complaints last year."

"Mad-Eye again? For two years? The poor kids!" Remus laughed but Sirius scowled.

"And Harry refuses to go. This is supposed to be his fifth year, but he still doesn't want to go."

"You can't very well blame him for that," Remus said, sipping at the cup of tea one house elf gave him. "Remember what happened in '91?"

"Dumbledore caught Quirrel and they locked him up in Azkaban!"

"'93?"

Sirius paused at this. "Now, that was a little close to home-"

"_A lot_ closer to home," Remus corrected. "Peter was almost caught, too. Too bad. But I give him a few more years before he fudges up. And what about last year? That Diggory kid almost died facing down those dragons-"

"If Harry had gone, he'd have been in no danger whatsoever," Sirius replied. "Only the champions had to face down those dragons and Harry was too young to be a champion. Anyway, there were healers aplenty to heal him."

"The point is that there _have_ been things going on at Hogwarts," Remus pointed out. "It's undeniably. Harry might feel safer here than some school with all these happenings going on. You know he's never gotten over James's death."

They paused at that and, doggedly, Sirius had to nod his head in acceptance. "But he's not scared to go Hogwarts," Sirius pointed out. "The only reason he's not going is because Leo doesn't want him to."

"True."

"So the only way to get Harry to Hogwarts is through Leo."

Remus shook his head. "You _know_ that's not going to work, Sirius. It hasn't worked since '91, when Leo first told Harry he didn't want Harry to go to Hogwarts. Leo's afraid of being left behind, and what Leo wants... Harry gets him."

"Damnit, Remus, why don't you see anything wrong with that?"

"Oh, I do." Remus took another sip of his tea. "But the last thing I want is to remove Harry's trust in me. The last time I tried to force him to talk to me, to listen to me, he went as cold on me as he is on you and..." his hands shook, "I can't deal with that."

"I know. But every time I look at Harry, so sad and quiet, I can feel James looking down on me, asking me why Harry's so quiet, so unhappy, and I can't answer him." Sirius sat down at the table and shook his head. "It hurts to have him push me away, Remus, have him constantly telling me that he doesn't want me around. But it hurts worse when I feel James right beside me, asking me what I did to his son."

*

Daily Prophet

****

Updates on the Prophesied Son

__

Recent rumors that the prophesied savior of the magical world had died are all false. Indeed, Leonard Torrent Potter is doing quite well, getting a head start on his future classmate for his Hogwarts education, writes Prophet reporter Rita Skeeter. His guardians, Sirius Black (Auror) and Remus Lupin (free-lance slayer) have dragged out their old school books and have started teaching him the basics of spell-pronunciation. And, in the opinion of this reporter, the future savior has his sounds out right.

Ever since the so-called "Stag and Flower" Prophecy, written by the famed seer Aberforth (brother of Albus Dumbledore) was leaked to the Prophet four years ago, our reporters have been bringing information for the inquiring ears of the wizarding public concerning their future sovereign.

The Stag and Flower tells us that a "second son" will be born to a pair of parents who, while we can't give exact details, match perfectly with the descriptions of the late James and Lily Potter. For those skeptics out there, information from captured Death Eaters tell us that not only did You-Know-Who believe this prophecy, but he believed it enough to send a squad out to constantly watch the Potters, waiting for the birth of their second son. And it was also while facing young Leonard that You-Know-Who met his downfall...

The article abruptly went on to summarize every major event of Leo's life, starting form age one--the age the Prophet found out all about the prophecy. It also added an exact copy of the prophecy as well as listing the many "steps" the Prophet went through, glamorizing itself to the point of self-worship.

"Buzzards," Remus muttered as read the paper, a dozen or so minutes after his "talk" with Sirius. "That' all they are. Floating around, keeping an ear out to see what's hot and then swooping down in for the kill, the animals." On the front cover of the paper, right next to the article was a picture of Leo, obviously in the middle of a game with someone just beyond the picture's edge. Harry had been cut out.

"'Keeping an eye on the future savior'?" Sirius snorted. "More like 'stalking' Leo since that Death Eater let it slip why Voldemort was so interested in the Potters."

"Who was it anyway?" Remus asked. "Nott?" 

"Nott."

"Hmm. He was pretty dull back in our years at Hogwarts."

"I wonder who blacsted out the prophecy's meanings in the first place ," Sirius murmured to himself. "If I knew, I'd-"

"Not like we can complain. After all, ever since the Prophet came out with their first article, and ever since everyone started believing it like the crazed population they are, the Ministry's been providing for our every need." Remus took a bit out of his apple. "Only for an interview a month."

"You make it sound like we're renting the kid out."

Remus choked on the apple and glared at the grinning Sirius. "You know very well that Leo loves the attention! But sometimes... sometimes I think that all this fame's going to his head."

"Ya think?" came the sarcastic reply. Sirius glanced outside and straightened up. "I'm going in!"

"You act like talking with Harry's a battle." Sirius smiled cheekily before flipping Remus off and heading outside. 

*

Harry looked down at his godfather and visibly tensed. He threw the Quaffle over to Leo, saying something that Sirius couldn't hear, and headed down, touching to the grass.

"Yes?"

"Remus is back."

"I know."

"He wants to talk to you."

"What about?"

Sirius exhaled and raised his hands in defeat. "I don't know. Why don't you just go inside and find out?" Leo floated down, touching his feet to the ground in slight hesitation, dropping the Quaffle onto the grass.

Harry looked at his brother and mouth the four-letter word Sirius had grown to hate. "Fine." He Banished the broom back to the shed with a motion of his hand and headed into the house, not noticing the astonished look on his godfather's face.

Sirius turned to Leo. "Did he just do that without a wand?"

"Opps," Leo rolled his eyes. "You weren't supposed ta know 'bout that."

"Is there anything else I should know about Harry?" Sirius felt the slightest stirrings of panic. He'd been living with the boy for four years. He should know everything already!

"Uh..."

"Leo?"

"No!" Leo denied vehemently but it sounded like a lie. Sirius let it pass--for the moment.

"Listen Leo, we really need to talk." Sirius sat down on the dot grass and patted the area beside him. Leo took a seat.

"Bout what?"

"Well..." Sirius took a deep breath. "You know how much Uncle Remus and I talk about Hogwarts?"

"Harry doesn't want to go-"

"No, not about sending Harry. About when we went there, how much fun we had, how many friends we played with." Leo nodded, smiling, probably thinking about how he couldn't wait to get to Hogwarts. "And I always say that they were the best years of my life, right?" Another nod. "Well, we really want Harry to go." Leo's smile faded. "You see, we had so much fun, we just don't want Harry to miss out on anymore. I mean, he's already missed a couple years already."

"But I don't want Harry to leave-"

"Why not?"

"Because... because Harry makes the people go away when I'm tired or when I don't want to talk anymore."

'People? Right, reporters.' "We can keep them away," Sirius said, aware that he was pleading with a seven-year old.

But Leo shook his head. "I'll miss him. And I don't want him to go away."

"But Harry's missing out on his friends and his adventures. Why don't you let him go play with some kids his own age?" Leo's face clouded up. "Besides, Harry gets lonely here sometimes, I'm sure. There's only you, me, Remus-"

Leo shook his head again. "Not uh," he denied. "Harry said he'll never leave me, and he says he doesn't care whether he goes or stays because he only wants me to be happy. And he says he doesn't even need to go to school. He said that!" The child was getting hysterical now. "H-he said he'd never leave me-"

"Shh. Leo, Harry won't be leaving you-"

"Yes he will-"

"No, no. Sirius picked Leo up and held him in a hug as the child began to cry. "Harry just needs to get away. You see how he is here: he's always quiet and he's always sad. You don't want Harry to be sad, do you?"

"N-no." Leo sniffed. "But he said he doesn't need to go to school. He said mum already taught him everything."

"Oh really?" Leo nodded fiercely. "Does he know magic? I know he knows a little, but does he know a lot?"

"Yea, Harry knows everything," Leo claimed.

"Oh really?" Sirius raised an eyebrow and turned Leo around to face him, to better judge whether the kid was lying. "What kind of stuff?"

"Everything!" Leo repeated, wiping at his eyes. "He, he makes sure I don't fall and if I get scared, he makes it light. H-he can disappear and reappear--he cheats a lot when we play tag. And once, he talked to his big snake but I didn't like it and told him to make it go away and he did, Uncle Sirius! He kept his promise and he promised not to leave me!"

"R-really?" Leo nodded and Sirius swore the child wasn't lying.

"And he's always playing with me and doing what I want and making things and changing into things and-"

"Changing into things? What kind of things?"

"Animals! See! Harry doesn't need to go to school." Leo threw himself into Sirius's chest. "Don't make him go."

"Wait, what kind of animals."

"Whatever I want," Leo said proudly, buried against Sirius's chest. "He doesn't whatever I want and I don't want him to go away, ever."

"Leo, Harry's, Harry's not your slave," Sirius chided faintly, mind spinning. "He isn't here just to make you happy."

At that moment, the front door opened and Harry came back out, looking mildly suspicious. "Remus said he didn't want to talk to me," he said simply.

"Harry, Uncle Sirius wants you to go to Hogwarts but I don't want you to and he says you have to and he doesn't believe me. Tell him you don't have to go, tell him because he won't believe me," Leo pleaded, getting up from Sirius to cling to Harry's legs with teary eyes.

"He won't believe you?" Harry repeated, looking up from the crying Leo to Sirius, locking eyes with his godfather.

Leo nodded. "He keeps asking me questions but won't believe me but you don't need to go, do you?"

"Questions?"

Leo nodded again then looked up. "Harry, you don't want to go, do you?"

"Of course Harry wants to go," Sirius said, standing up. "In fact, not only does Harry want to go, but he needs to go."

Harry stiffened but didn't say anything, aware of his brother watching him and really not wanting to start a fight with hid godfather just then.

"Harry?"

He looked down into his brother's golden eyes. "If you want to send me away, I'll go."

Leo looked between Harry and Sirius and swallowed. "I-I don't want you to go," and Sirius's shoulders sagged. "But I don't want you to fight all the time."

"We're only fighting because Harry needs to go to Hogwarts, but you won't let him," Sirius stated, knowing that Harry wouldn't protest lest he start a fight where Leo could see.

"If you'll keep fighting then..." Leo took a deep breath. "Then you should go to Hogwarts."

Sirius's heart jumped and he bit down a smile at the expression on Harry's face. Harry went silent then gave a quick nod and headed back inside, stealing Sirius's victory away. "You should get inside, Leo," Harry called over his shoulder. "It's getting dark." Leo rolled his eyes, wiping the tears from them, but trudged inside.

Leaving Sirius thinking that, perhaps, Harry made a much better parent than he did. Then he nearly ran inside to write an owl to the anxious Dumbledore and share with both the headmaster and the werewolf inside everything he'd learned.


	11. Chapter X

****

Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

__

Buck's first day on the Dyea beach was like a nightmare. Every hour was filled with shock and surprise. He had been suddenly jerked from the heart of civilization and flung into the heart of things primordial. No lazy, sun-kissed life was this, with nothing to do but load and be bored. Here was neither peace, nor rest, nor a moment's safety. All was confusion and action, and every moment life and lib were in peril. These was imperative need to be constantly alert; for these dogs and men were not town dogs and me, They were savages, all of the, who knew no law but the law of club and fang.

The Call Of The Wild, Jack London

****

Chapter X

From age 9--or, from the month before his 10th birthday, when Harry was shocked from his world and torn apart from his parents and thrust into four days of absolute confusion before landing in a home that was too small, too weird with too many memories and a man who claimed to be his godfather but who Harry hadn't seen for his entire childhood--

From that age on, Harry had slowly shut up into himself. Sirius was frightening not only because he was an Auror, something Harry had learned to fear and hate, but also because he was an annoyingly happy one. He always tried to get Harry to get excited or at least understand the "call of duty" he felt, but every time Harry would freeze up on him.

At first, Sirius had blamed Harry's shyness on the lack of previous interaction between the two and had constantly pressed for a closer friendship, not knowing that his very nature was terrifying to Harry, that the title he kept trying to explain was something that Harry despised. Then again, the first few months in the same house had been stressful not only because of Harry's fear of Aurors but also because someone had leaked the prophecy to the Prophet and it seemed like every day, another reporter was trying to stick his/her nose through the door for a peek at Leo.

Remus was a free-lance slayer, slaying things from vampires to ghouls to boggarts to over-friendly dementors. Those first few months after the war was officially over, he was hired every day, sometimes getting his schedule booked back for months as Voldemort's dark creature army disbanded and started attacking the wizarding populations of their own free will. He was, therefore, unable to stop the rising tensions between godfather and godson and when he came back, Harry had already withdrawn too far back into himself with all of Sirius's unintentional jabs.

Ever since then, ever since Remus had come back and seen the devastating results of Sirius's "getting-to-know-you," he'd become the medium for the two. When they fought, he'd solve the problems.

Leo was also a sort of medium but only because Harry had the infuriating belief that he couldn't fight in front of his brother. If Leo caught him angry, that anger would disappear. And while this could be a good thing, Leo's appearance would also silence Harry when he was in the middle of finally just coming out, just telling what so tormented him that he had alienated himself from the whole world save for his brother.

At first, when Remus came back, he'd thought it was because of all the publicity Leo was getting, that Harry was somehow jealous. But he soon found that Harry hated being the center of attention, hated having people focused on him as though he thought it was somehow dangerous for him to be getting too much notice and he almost welcomed the disregard the reporters gave him.

__

"Cool scar kid," as one reporter said. "Now get out of the way. We're here for yur brother, not some regular bit like yurself."

As Remus had told Sirius before, Harry never got over his parents' death. He was there when his mother died, was within hearing distance when his father was killed, and even was the one to set their bodies to burn in a makeshift funeral pyre. Not that anyone knew that. The story that went around was that Harry had tried to run but had been struck down by an unknown curse, a curse that had given him that scar. Then, while his parents lay dead and he lay dying, Leo had called upon the fantastic powers only he possessed, forever banishing the Dark Lord's presence.

But, as previously stated, Harry had withdrawn into himself and what he saw as Leo's dismissal of him was the last straw that fell, destroying Harry's bridge to the outside world. When he got to Hogwarts, he came as a student totally unprepared for interaction, one still rolling from the tragic events forced on him, and as one totally primed to reject any other human contact.

Unfortunately, the world wasn't content with letting Harry be--fate wasn't content with letting the real second son alone. If he wanted to reject human contact, human contact would soon engulf him in a year that turned his world upside down.

*

"This is fun!" Leo shrieked, running up and down the street a few feet ahead of his brother. People were stopping to stare at him and he loved the attention. "You should'a gone to school a long time ago, Harry!"

He was talking about the shopping they'd come for, buying the last things Harry needed but hadn't already received from his parents, like a cauldron or an owl. His broom had been returned once the Ministry managed to erase the Dark Mark from his old apartment along with everything else that Harry had left behind. No one yet knew, save for the mysterious Fletcher and Figg, that Harry had ever gone back to the apartment, as Harry had completely forgotten it in his retelling to Remus. When asked to explain the books Sirius's had found in his room, Harry had replied that he'd borrowed them from the many books sent to Leo, begging for Leo's autograph. Luckily, Sirius never looked inside, never noticed James's sprawling signature or Lily's neat handwriting.

Everyone already knew that Harry had a wand, knew ever since that day in the wand shop with all those people staring at him. They passed his scar off as unusual but not spectacular, possibly the result of a dark curse that hit him the night his brother saved the world. Anything more they might have noticed about him was forgotten in Leo's presence, and it wasn't like Harry exactly welcomed the reporters' inspections.

"Yea, that's what I said," Sirius joked, waving as a camera caught his picture. "Go to school, Harry, go have fun. Just go. But no one wanted to listen to me."

Remus groaned into his hands, shaking his head. "You're as bad as Leo is," he accused. Sirius could only laugh and shrug helplessly in defeat. "How about you go take Leo and walk around for a bit? I'll go with Harry to get the rest of his stuff."

Sirius nodded and Leo, hearing the plan, all but dragged his uncle off for ice cream. Remus put a knowing hand on Harry's shoulder when the teenager looked up with a grateful smile as the reporters and other curious folk all followed after the departing duo.

"Thanks."

"No problem. I noticed you were feeling slightly uncomfortably."

Harry shrugged as they headed towards Eeylops's Owl Emporium. "I don't take well on pictures," he answered truthfully, delighting Remus with his open attitude. "Besides, they just cut me out anyway."

Remus was about to say something but Harry then pointed out an owl. "She looks good."

It was a beautiful owl. Snowy white all the way save for the tips of each wing, which looked dyed with the darkest black. Her eyes were black as well, stony in their reflections, giving Remus a twisted depiction of himself when he looked into them. As soon as Harry pointed to her, she twisted her head about to stare at him and Remus, standing beside Harry, could almost feel a shock pass between the two.

Harry shook his head, like he was trying to clear his mind, then made his way inside with Remus following.

"Ah, yes, you're the brother of the great Leonard, aren't you," the owner said in greeting when Harry called to him. He gave Harry a thorough look-over and snorted. "Not much to look at, huh? Too skinny. Not good when you're buying pets." He gestured to his own bulging belly. "Them owls, they know better to attack me 'cause I'm too big for 'em. But a skinny little runt like you... Now your brother, he looks like he'll be a good trainer someday. 'Course, that's to be expected, with him being the savior and all-"

"Sir, kindly keep your comments to yourself," Remus spat out through grit teeth but Harry didn't look the slightest bit phased.

"How much is that owl up there," he asked, pointing towards the one he wanted. "The white one with black wingtips."

"I know what you're talking about, you don't need to point," the owner barked. "Pointing scares the birds." None of the owls looked the slightest bit concerned with Harry's pointing but he lowered his hand anyway. "Not that I expected _you_ to know that, you're not the second son and all." He kept up his grumbling as he walked up to the front and looked over the owl Harry wanted, lifting its wings as she squawked with indignity, trying to escape his cold hands.

When he was finished, the owl dealer barked out a laugh. "Figures you'd chose this owl. She's been sitting here for four years doing nothing and is probably too old to even carry anything. I bet your mum kept all your brains when she had you, saving them for your brother. Not that he needs them. The way I hear it, he already gots his spells down, counting the days til he goes to Hogwarts. What a riot that'll cause. They'll probably have to skip him up, just to keep up with him-"

"I'd still like to buy her, sir," Harry cut in. Remus was fuming beside him, too angry to open his mouth lest he lost control of what he said. The owner glared at Harry.

"Disrespectful, can't even wait for a man to stop talking before you cut in," he grumbled but grabbed the owl from her perch, scooting her to her cage and roughly informing Harry of her cost. Wordlessly, Harry pulled out the said amount and the two exchanged hands. "If she dies, it ain't my fault," the man called out as Harry started to leave. "She's too old to be put in contract. You'll have to buy another one."

Harry barely tipped his head in acknowledgement before he shut the door behind him. Immediately, Remus exploded.

"How could you let him talk to you like that?" he yelled. "You should've cut him right off, told him to shut up, just left--not sit quietly as he badmouthed you, not buy an owl that he also insults. You should straight back in there and-"

"And what?" Harry shot back, anger glinting in his green eyes. "Make you feel better my picking a fight with him? Make myself feel better by going in there and knocking down all his owls, getting up in his face, lowering myself to his standards?" He seemed surprised with himself and backed down, reaching a hand through the cage to stroke his owl. "It was only talk, Remus, and talk can't hurt me."

The werewolf was speechless but Harry didn't gloat or say a word more about the subject, heading down to the cauldron shop to pick up his required cauldron. "Why'd you pick that owl?" he asked after a moment, not knowing what else to say.

Harry shrugged. "I really don't know. She just... spoke to me." The owl rattled her feathers and gave a low "wah." Harry smiled slightly and opened the cage, letting her fly out and sit on his shoulder. "I bet her name's Hedwig."

"Hedwig?" Harry went inside. Remus shook his head and followed.

*

"Ah, Master Potter," the wizard bowed low. "It is my distinct honor to meet you, sir. Never before did I ever think-"

"Master Potter, would you mind if I paid for your ice cream, sir?"

"Can I get your autograph, Mr. Potter sir?"

"Move it, witch! It's my turn in line--oh, oh my, it's, it's really you! Can I shake your hand?"

Leo calmly sat at his booth, smiling charmingly and shaking hands, occasionally giving an answer to someone or posing for the camera, playing out his fame as the line to his booth grew longer and longer. Across from him, Sirius was chuckling.

"You remind me exactly like your father," he whispered and Leo leaned in the hear him. Cameras flashed, imprinting their images forever. "He used to be really popular when he was younger. His family was really important and everywhere they went people would take pictures, just like now. He loved it, just like you do."

"Really?" Leo's eyes lit up, fascinated. Harry rarely spoke of their dead parents. "Were there pictures there, when he died?"

Sirius smiled painfully at the innocent question but shook his head. "No. After awhile, your dad got tired of all the pictures, and after awhile they left him alone. Like how they leave Harry alone."

"Oh." Leo leaned back into his seat, hiding his frown by eating another spoonful of ice cream. At the front desk, the manager and his sons were advertising the ice cream brand. _"If Leonard Potter eats this ice cream, what are you waiting for?"_

"I don't think I'll ever get tired of this," Leo confided. "And I don't think they'll ever get tired of me."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "That might change in the future, when you're older like Harry."

But Leo shook his head. "Never," he answered strongly. "Never." He went back to posing for the pictures and shaking hands, smiling his royal smile and capturing the hearts of wizards and witches everywhere.

"Come one, come all and eat at the very same ice cream parlor that Leonard Potter dines. For a special rate, you can even sit in the booth next to him!"

*

They met up again and Leo yawned, asking what time they were going to bed.

"We'll be spending the evening in the Leaky Cauldron. That all right with you?" Sirius answered and Leo nodded, not really caring as long as he got a comfortable pillow to lie on. Sirius turned to Remus and chuckled, "Knowing the people around here, we'll get the best room of the lot."

The group of four walked down Diagon Alley, turning to the pub that served as walkway to the muggle world as well as hotel for sleepy wizards. Behind them, wizarding cameras flashed and people cheered, waving frantically to Leo, the emblem of all that was light.

"You guys go on in, I just want to talk with Harry for a second," Sirius discharged when they reached the pub's door, and Remus, rolling his eyes, ushered Leo in where yet another crowd had grown, waiting for him to enter. As soon as the werewolf entered the door, the manager (who'd obviously been hoping for them to enter) ordered his house elves to pick up the group's luggage and take it to the best room in the house. When they came towards Harry, he politely if firmly refused to let go of his cauldron and all the school supplies within it.

"Harry, can I talk to you?" the Auror asked, taking a seat on the curb and patting the empty spot beside him.

"You already are," Harry replied dryly but he went and sat down on the curb next to his godfather, carefully setting the cauldron beside him.

"Look, I know we haven't exactly been the best of friends, but I want you to know that it's not because I've never tried. I really, really want to be your friend, Harry, but you don't want me to be." Harry made a face at the ground but remained quiet, playing with some loose pavement between his fingers. Sirius sighed and started again. "Ok, how about this: Harry, I want you to have a good time at Hogwarts. Can you promise me you will?"

He got a reaction. Harry looked up, blinking several times in surprise. "Promise you to have a good time?" he repeated, face blank but voice registering skepticism. "How can I have a good time if I don't even want to go?"

"Leo wants you to go and have a good time," Sirius pressed but Harry's eyes narrowed, recognizing Sirius' all-too-familiar tactic: get Harry to do anything just by mentioning Leo's name. Pressing his lips firmly, Harry silently vowed not to let himself fall for it.

Sirius pushed on, hoping to get it into Harry's mind how much he cared. "I know you don't want to go, don't want to leave Leo, but you need to have some fun. You've wasted too much of your life already-"

"Wasted?" Harry objected, standing up angrily. "What do you mean by that?"

"Harry..." Sirius floundered. "That... that didn't come out right. Come on, sit back down." The teen's jaw stiffened but Harry sat back down. "What I meant was you, er, missed a great opportunity to learn at the best school there is! Back in my day, Hogwarts was as much a place to have fun as to learn! You could meet your best friends, worst enemies, future loves..." He sighed in lovely remembrance and slowly shook his head. "I keep telling you but it never gets through your head: Hogwarts is _fun_, and as soon as you get there, you'll find out just that."

Harry swallowed, staring down into the street. The light was just beginning to fade beyond the sky and, if he looked at it just right, he could see why many people used to think the sun revolved around the world. He could just understand why people thought themselves so important that the idea of the earth being the center of the universe was so universal. But if he really wanted to understand why people had once believed such idiotic beliefs, he only needed to look at the people around him who, hundreds more years advanced, still thought of themselves as all-important.

Didn't Sirius see? Didn't he understand? Harry's hands clenched white, drowning out his godfather's toning sermon. Harry had already seen how bad the world was. What kind of world would let two innocent people die at the hand of a madman? What kind of world would allow death to visit with such rampant numbers? Wasn't there some supreme design were the wicked would be punished and the just would rule? Even now as he sat there, watching the sun sink beyond view, he could see the aristocratic families walking down the street with their lips turned into a sneer, looking here and there as if the entire block was under their control. What design would let people like that live in control when others suffered?

'I can't leave,' he thought to himself for the hundredth time that day, mind barely registering the fact that Sirius had stopped talking. 'What would happen to Leo? What if Voldemort isn't dead and is just waiting for me to leave?'

"Harry?" Sirius turned to stare at his absorbed godson but was given no reaction.

'But Leo wants me to leave,' his mind argued, the statement echoing hollowly. 'Not even Leo wants you anymore. Sirius is always going on about how he wants you to leave and now Leo agrees with him.' His jaw clenched and upper body stiffened. 'Doesn't he need me anymore?'

'You're too old,' his mind laughed, a sarcastic figure in the background. 'And Leo has all the attention he needs.' Pain was barely felt as his nails, clenched tightly into his palms, broke through the surface of his hands, leaving four shallow, crescent-shaped wounds dripping out blood.

"Harry?" Sirius prompted again, getting slightly worried. "Are you listening to me?" Harry grunted and Sirius smiled, losing all tension and worry. "All right. As I was saying..."

Harry looked down at his bleeding hands with something akin to wonder, quickly hiding the bleeding palms in his robes before Sirius noted. 'Just get over yourself,' his mind whispered, some degrees louder than Sirius and completely blocking out the older man's voice. Harry could see his godfather's mouth moving but it was only his mind's whispers he heard. 'Leo has either been turned by that bloody Auror or else really wants you gone, and either way you lose.'

'That's true,' Harry nodded. Sirius, thinking Harry was agreeing with _him_, smiled brightly and kept going.

'So just do this:' the voice went on to say, 'go to Hogwarts. Go to Hogwarts and find your own glory. They've rejected you; turn around and reject them.'

'I can't do that to Leo,' Harry objected, eyes narrowing at the mental conflict. 'He's my brother-'

'He's as good as turned,' the voice replied airily, a tone of voice that sent shivers up and down Harry's spine. 'He no longer cares for you; he wants you to leave. Remember what happened the last time you risked everything for someone you cared about, a person who only turned on you.' Harry shivered again, Goosebumps crawling up and down his skin.

'Go to Hogwarts.'

"Go to Hogwarts," Sirius was saying and for a moment, Harry could only stare at him. Noting his godson's attention, Sirius repeated, "That's right; go to Hogwarts and smile and show everyone that you're important, too. Just as important as Leo is."

Harry swallowed, ill omens walking through his head.

"Harry..." Sirius sighed and gently rested a hand on his godson's back, not sensing the deep tension there. "I'm your godfather and while that might not mean a lot to you, it's the most important title I've got. If I had to chose between everything I am, had to chose one thing to call myself... I'd probably pick 'handsome stud muffin,' but aside from that-"

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Aside from that," Sirius said again, realizing that Harry wasn't going to respond to humor, "I'd chose godfather, because that's the one thing that's kept me going all these years. Whenever you made me so mad that I felt like going outside and snapping you're broom--oh yes," he interrupted himself, seeing the look on Harry's face, "I felt like that plenty of times. But whenever I did, I'd always say to myself, 'Hey, you can't do that. You're his godfather, and what kind of godfather would do that?'"

'What kind of godfather are you?' Harry felt like shouting. 'Can't you see I don't want to go? That the only reason I'm going is because Leo wants me to and because a little voice in my head just happens to make sense? What would you say to that?'

'He'd probably consider you mad,' the voice replied dryly. 'Don't give him any reason to think otherwise. Act as though his speech has truly helped you, has truly changed you mind.'

"All right Sirius." Harry leaned onto his elbows as one hand absently trailed a pattern in the dirt. "I'll go. Sorry I've been such a bother."

"Bother?" Sirius snorted in laughter and he roughly ruffled Harry's hair. "You were an outright pain at times, but that's all right because no matter what, you're still you and if I had to chose between being your godfather all these years and being on a island somewhere, being the insanely rich bachelor I always wanted to be, I'd chose-"

"Harry?" A woman stopped midway in the Leaky Cauldron's front door, holding it open in such a way that Harry could hear all the people practically mooning over his brother. She took a step closer, closing the door. "Harry, is that you dear?"

"Mrs. Weasley?" Harry tilted his head then stood in surprise. "Hello."

Sirius got up, too, wiping the dirt off himself and looking at the woman strangely. "Molly Weasley?"

"Oh, look at you dear," Molly almost squealed, going forward to grab Harry by the shoulders and spinning him around. "All grown up! And so handsome!" Harry blushed and looked down. "Why, I can remember the day like it was yesterday, you and your little brother walking around this very street, looking lost and so alone-"

"Sirius, this is Mrs. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley, this is my godfather, Sirius Black," Harry introduced, trying to get out of Mrs. Weasley's hug.

"How do you do?" Molly asked politely, studying Sirius like she'd seen him before. She frowned and looked at him questioningly and he nodded somberly. Satisfied, she went back to her examination of Harry, pointing out things she'd noticed, things that had changed.

Before long, a man stuck his head out the front door, Mr. Weasley. "Molly, what are you waiting for?"

"Look, Arthur," Molly turned with a smile. "It's Harry. Remember that little boy who came and stayed with us a night."

"Harry?" Arthur was out there beside his wife, gaping. "Oh my, good to see you son, good to see you."

"You've still got that brother of yours, don't you?" Molly asked. "Leo, was it?"

"Leo... Leo..." Arthur suddenly snapped his fingers. "That's right: the child who defeated You-Know-Who. Quite a feat for a baby." He looked around. "You, uh, you didn't happen to bring him with you, did you?"

"Actually, Leo's inside," Sirius answered. At his voice, Arthur also paused and gave the Auror a solid look over.

"You mean that mob inside, that's all for him?" Molly asked, aghast, glancing back to the door as if she was ready to tackle them all herself.

"He likes it, really," Sirius said with a smile, nodding deferentially to Arthur.

"Let's get inside before the boys get worried," Arthur urged his wife. He noticed the robes Harry was carrying in his cauldron. "Say, you're not going to Hogwarts this year, are you?" Harry nodded guiltily but the door opened so he didn't hear anything else of the conversation.

Once inside, Molly directed them to a corner away from the "mob" as she called them, a table being saved by her seven children. Sirius was overwhelmed when each introduced themselves, having heard of the Weasleys before but never really meeting them until now.

"Blimey Harry, you're just now showing up?" Ron asked, a mouth full of food. Molly scolded him but was ignored. "You know you missed a whole bunch! Hope you're in Gryffindor, like I am. Best house of the lot."

Fred and George, however, seemed a bit more excited about his brother. "I kinda forgot about him, you know, until I read the paper a couple years back," Fred admitted. "Then I was like, say, that little tyke sounds just like the kid who came over."

"Course, they didn't say a thing about you, Harry, and that's why we didn't notice right away," George continued once Fred stopped to gulp some drink down.

"It wasn't until they mentioned that the Boy-Who-Lived, as some weirdos are calling him, had a brother with a weird scar. That's pretty much all they said about you but I said to George, 'Don't that sound like that kid, that Harry kid who had the thing on his forehead?'" He paused and leaned across the table. "You still got it, right? That scar?"

Harry dutifully lifted up his bangs and the whole table stopped to stare for a moment before slipping back to their own conversations.

He could see Sirius and the adult Weasleys just a few seats down, talking together in hushed voice and glancing about often as if wary of eavesdroppers. Sirius caught Harry looking and frowned slightly before going back to the conversation but the frown was one Harry knew well. Often times old Aurors would come over and just discuss years gone by and while Sirius often invited Harry to listen (thinking it would increase the boy's respect of the old magical officers) he would sometimes frown that same way when the Auror went into too much depth, provided too much detail. It was his business frown, the frown he probably wore everyday as an Auror. It was the warning frown that gave Harry and whoever else just enough time to correct themselves before he was forced to action.

Many serving in Azkaban had discarded that frown.

Harry looked away.

"They've all moved out," Ginny answered when Harry asked about her older brothers, blushing when he looked at her. "When, when you came, Charlie and Bill had already moved out but were just coming to visit but now, Percy's gone too."

"Oh." He searched for an appropriate response while the others just looked at him and finally asked, "Are they doing all right?"

Ginny nodded. "Yea. Charlie's working with dragons over in Romania and Bill's still a curse-breaker for Gringotts, but Percy's working in the Ministry now, with dad."

"He hasn't gotten any better since you last came," Ron took over the conversation. "Worse, actually."

"What's Hogwarts like?" Harry asked when the table quieted down.

Fred and George exchanged looks and grinned at Harry. "Oh, you'll love it," they promised. "We'll take you under our wing and all. Won't have to worry about a thing."

But by the looks on Ron and Ginny's faces, that wasn't exactly something to be happy about.

"Oh, Harry, I totally forgot," Sirius interrupted, having abruptly ended his conversation with the Weasley parent. He smiled down at his godson but Harry squirmed uncomfortably, reminded yet again of the real person behind the friendly mask and getting a flashback of a day many years ago. Could Sirius have possibly been one of those Aurors standing as witness in that mockery of a trial that day in the forest? "Remus wanted me to take you down to the Apothecary, to finish picking up your school supplies." 

"Don't worry, I can go get it myself," Harry said quickly, a little too quickly. Sirius looked at him questioningly.

"I'll come with you," Ron volunteered.

"Oh no you won't," Molly denied. "You still have your summer essays to finish. All of you. Up to the room, now." She stopped to smile at Harry, a smile ruined by the slight hesitation he saw in her eyes. "It's been nice seeing you again, Harry. You come to the Burrow to visit, sometime." Then she and her husband headed up the stairs to their rooms, her voice chiding them the entire way.

"It's not far," Harry went on, haggling with Sirius, trying his best to get away from the fiendish Auror. "Besides, Leo looks tired. You should get him to bed."

Sirius looked torn between his godson and his sleepy nephew who looked like he was trying to keep his eyes opened and nodded. "All right, but you be careful. It's getting late. Go, get what you need, then come back, all right?"

Harry was already out the door.

*

"Well, what do we have here?"

"Looks like some fun."

"Fun? Nah, he's too pathetic to put up a good fight. But we'll beat him up anyway."

Severus rolled his eyes as he walked towards the Apothecary, hearing these words spat out of the mouths of three wanna-be dark wizards, corning against fourth boy and slowly pushing him down into Knockturn Alley, where no one would stop their "game." The targeted teen didn't look like he was much for their games, but neither did he look threatened.

"What's going on?" Severus asked, grabbing their attention. His eyes narrowed in recognition. "Has the Hufflepuff House adopted a new rule for losing points before school even starts?"

The boys, a trio of rowdy Hufflepuffs who were graduating that year, flushed and fumbled for an answer. One of them, the bravest, sneered and stated, "You can't do that."

Severus drew himself up to his full imposing height, face darkening into the deadly serious used to frighten first year. "I assure you," he replied in cool, crisp tones, "that I most certainly can."

The three flinched instinctively and even the bravest couldn't hold down the professor's stony gaze. They ran off. Severus snorted and looked down at the teen before him. "Are you naturally that stupid or do you blame your idiocy on your mother?"

The boy flinched but didn't answer, keeping his face looking the other way.

"Deaf or mute?" Severus wondered aloud, brushing along beside the child. "Or is it deaf and mute? Perhaps you are neither but simply too stupid to form a correct answer to a question."

Something about the boy's stance, changing from politely quiet to silently fuming made him stop and pause. Severus glared down. "What's your name, boy?"

"It's Harry Potter," and the face turned up, shocking Severus with his glittering green eyes. The eyes quickly took in Severus's robes and he added, "Are you a Hogwarts professor?" Somehow, the question came out sounding like an accusation.

Severus nearly jumped and nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as he took in this boy's appearance. Tall and thin, with Lily's brilliant eyes but James's face, tanned to a color an adventurer would be proud of; altogether a face he'd expected to see four years before but hadn't really prepared himself to see. "You look like your father."

"So everyone seems to tell me," came Harry' stoic reply and he walked by Severus, heading into the potion ingredients store.

"I'll take it that you're starting at Hogwarts this year," Severus stated, following him in. Harry nodded impassively, carefully picking out his needed ingredients with skillful fingers. "What possessed you to come this year, but miss the other four?"

"My business is my own," Harry replied, not outrightly rude but definitely on the lines. "But the reason is that my brother asked me not to come sooner."

"So your brother, the famed Boy-Who-Lived and prophesied savior, has given you permission to leave this year?"

"My brother told me to go, yes, so I'm going."

"What, are you his slave?" Severus spat out. "What kind of imbecile would skip four years of education rather than go against a brother's request?" His eyes narrowed at a sudden thought. "I do hope that you aren't expecting special treatment, Mister Potter. Your brother's reputation will be of no help to you at Hogwarts."

"Of course I'm not, professor," the teenage student answered, brushing off the words and bringing his items up to the front to be paid for and ignoring the fuming professor behind him. The sheer humility the boy gave in answer to Severus's biting words threw the professor off long enough for Harry to pay for his items and pack them up.

"Do you care about a word I've said?" Severus asked at last, seeing James Potter's face but Lily's attitude in the boy before him and unable to reconcile the difference.

"No, but I'm glad to know at least one professor, at any rate," Harry replied quickly, brushing away anything else Severus was about to say. He looked outside. "I'll see you at Hogwarts, professor."

"It's Snape, Professor Snape." Harry nodded in acknowledgement and walked away.

'Strange boy,' Severus thought to himself as he walked away, thinking of what a child like that would become in Hogwarts. 'Slytherin, perhaps?' The thought made him to smile in dark victory. If Potter's son became a Slytherin, that infernal James Potter would be turning in his grave come the start of the year.

*

"I told you I could do it," Sirius bragged, leaning back with the satisfaction of a milk-fed cat in his seat. His arms crossed behind his head and he was the picture of bliss.

"What are you talking about?" Remus asked with a laugh at his friend's position. Unwilling to resist the temptation, he picked up a shirt from his suitcase and threw it at the oblivious Auror, laughing harder at his friend's outcry.

"I talked to Harry and he agreed to go to school and try his best," Sirius explained, picking the shirt from his face and examining it. He looked up. "Hey, isn't this my shirt?"

"No!" Remus protested, reaching over to grab the shirt. "It's mine but you always steal it."

"Oh yeah..."

"So what happened?" Remus asked, finishing with his unpacking. The shirts were crumpled, the pants wrinkled, and all his robes looked dangerously close to falling off their hangers. Sighing, Remus dutifully lifted his wand and set the troubles to rest.

"Well--hey!" A misguided shirt 'accidentally' slammed into Sirius' face. The Auror ripped it off and threw it back at his grinning friend. "Knock it off or I won't tell you what happened." Remus chuckled but magically set the shirt back to its rightful position. "Like I was saying, I just set Harry down and told him what I expected from him."

"And he just listened to you?" Remus asked with an arched eyebrow. "Right. Somehow, I find that hard to believe. It'd be easier knowing that as soon as you started blabbering, he either started shouting with you or else drifted off."

But Sirius shook his head. "No, this time I really reached him. I said," and he huffed up his chest importantly, "'Harry, you may not want to go, but you gotta. You may not want to go, but you hafta. You may not want to go, but Leo said so and-'" His chest deflated and he rolled his eyes.

"Always back to Leo, huh," Remus sympathized. "Really, that's the only way he'll listen to you at any rate. But you're serious that he didn't do anything else? Just sat there and listened?" Finished with his clothing, he took a seat on his chair and drank from the cool water left behind by house elves.

"Just sat and listened. Sometimes, I'd think he'd drifted off but he'd nod-"

"Nod, like he was about to fall asleep or-"

"Remus!" Sirius shouted. "I'm trying to tell you that our talk went well!"

The werewolf raised his hands defensively. "All right, all right. So Harry listened--and you're sure he listened."

"He also said sorry for being a bother-"

"Now you're lying," Remus stated, pointing an accusing finger at his friend.

Sirius threw his hands in the air. "Get me some truth serum and hear the words again: he said he was sorry for being a bother. That's about when Molly Weasley shows up and interrupts us." He looked over at his friend. "You remember Molly from the Order, right?"

"Shh!" Remus hushed, looking around as if another was in the room unwelcome, then shook his head disapprovingly at the Auror. "You know we're not supposed to talk about that!"

Sirius rolled his eyes but gave up. "Fine. I'm just saying-"

"Whenever you're 'just saying' something, you end up either getting yourself in trouble or getting me in jail."

"Now that was just a one time mistake." 

*

A train whistled in the distance and Sirius shouted, "Come on! Where're going to be late!" He was struggling to run fast enough while pulling along Harry's trolley.

"No we're not," Remus panted alongside him, carrying Leo who wouldn't have been able to keep up any other way.

Harry didn't say anything, running along with the older two, trying not to swing his owl's cage too much. Hedwig, sensing their urgency, flapped her wings and tried to keep balance. To Harry, it seemed like the bird dealer was very much mistaken about the owl; she was as alive as any hatchling.

"There!" Sirius finally panted as the four stopped to catch their breaths after running through the muggle-packed train station. He looked around and said. "We better go now-"

"What, all at once? The muggles will notice for sure," Remus objected.

"We've got no time! And we're wasting it by arguing here," Sirius pointed out and Remus scowled but nodded. "On the count of three. One, two-"

Sirius took off with a laugh, leaving Harry and Remus running to catch up with him. "You know I never say-" His tease was cut off when he ran through the barrier.

Harry and Remus ran in seconds later and Sirius finished. "Three."

"Rascal!" Remus shouted and made to kick him.

"Harry!" Ron was waving at him from a window. "Better hurry, we're bout to leave!"

Remus and Sirius grabbed his bags and roughly threw them along with the others and Harry climbed onto the train just as a swarm of reporters who had obviously been waiting for this moment came rushing towards Leo.

The door shut moments after him, reminding him of just how lucky he was, and Harry hurried to an empty cart, looking out the window to catch a glimpse of his family before the train moved out of sight. Remus had his hand up, shielding his eyes from the sun and once he saw Harry, he yanked Sirius's arm and pointed. The two waved wildly.

Harry waved back and Leo caught on to where his uncles were waving to and waved goodbye to Harry as well, a smile on his face as he played the farewell off for the many cameras.

The train pulled around a corner and the platform disappeared so Harry slumped back into his seat, closing the window.

He'd shut the door to his booth so when it opened again, Harry's eyes snapped open.

"Oh, I didn't know anyone was in here," a pale blond boy started. "Usually they aren't because they know this is my cart."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Harry replied honestly. "But since you seem to be alone, I believe there'll be enough room in here for the both of us."

The boy thought about this for a moment then shrugged and sat down. "The only reason I'm alone is because my friends are up a few carts, bothering the first years. I'm Malfoy, by the way. Draco Malfoy."

"Harry Potter," Harry shook hands.

"Potter? You wouldn't happen to be the brother of Leonard, would you?" Draco asked immediately. "The one with the scar?"

Harry pulled up his bangs and nodded.

Draco looked slightly disbelieving but shrugged. "So, have you transferred to Hogwarts this year, then? I know you're as old as I am."

"No, I'm just starting."

"What?"

Harry shrugged. "This will be my first year at school."

"You're kidding?" Draco's face darkened slightly. "You act as though you're not worried at all," he exclaimed. "Like missing four years of school is nothing. Do you think that just because your brother's so smart, you don't need to learn? Or do you just plan on taking all five years at once?"

This time Harry' face darkened. "I'm not worried about that," he answered calmly, hoping that this Draco kid would get the hint.

"Right, I suppose that all that publicity your brother gets makes you feel special, doesn't it. I bet you think that by just mentioning his name, you'll get whatever you want, you'll get to run the school." His gray eyes narrowed, stormy as their color.

Harry didn't answer, turning away to the window and letting the teen continuing his rant.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"No," Harry replied sharply. "Because all you're doing is repeating yourself." He could feel himself beginning to anger. "After listening to you for just a few minutes, I could probably tune you out for the rest of the day and not miss a thing."

"Why you--you can't talk to me like that!" Draco called aloud. "I'm a Malfoy!"

"So I heard," Harry said coolly, standing up. "I'll leave now, seeing as this is _your_ cart and all."


	12. Chapter XI

****

Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

__

"Cook," I said, "dear Cook, if you and your brother are crazy, then so am I."

"We are not crazy," Cook said. "We are the voice of sanity in a crazy world.

"Where are your angels?" I asked. "Where are their feathers?"

Troubling a Star, Madeleine L'Engle

****

Chapter XI

Harry exited the train, getting pushed and shoved along with the crowd heading up towards the castle. Some giant of a man was off to the side, swinging his lantern as he called out, "Firs' years over 'ere, firs' years over 'ere!" He wasn't a first year so he ignored the call, following the rest of the students as they headed towards a line of carriages. Harry glanced back to the half-giant, where he was directing all the first years onto small boats that would soon be heading out past the lake, and boarded one of the carriages.

And it happened to be his sore luck that one person already sitting there was none other than the Malfoy child.

Malfoy blinked in surprise than sneered. "I thought you said this was your first year here. Shouldn't you be riding in the boats?"

For a moment, Harry wanted to rewind his life to the point where he opened the door and just walked away, but he was determined not to let Malfoy get the best of him. "I said this was my first year, not that I was stupid," Harry replied in tense tones. "I do know how to read, and I have been home-schooled."

"Oh, trying to be a Slytherin?" Draco asked haughtily, raising an eyebrow. "With your heritage, you should go around being more Gryffindor."

Harry's face darkened and he entered the carriage. There were two insanely huge boys sitting opposite Draco, both wearing identical blank looks. "Move over," he ordered. They began to move, almost hopping at the tone of his voice.

"No," Draco shot back, lifting out a hand. The boys stopped, confused as to which order they should follow.

"I said move over," Harry repeated. "Now move. I won't say it again."

"What makes you think that you can just come up in here and begin ordering people around?" Draco asked angrily, redirecting the attention away from the two boys who looked caught between the two orders.

"It must be that fame thing you were talking about," Harry replied sarcastically. Then, catching himself, he sighed and looked to the two boys again. "Look, I just want a place to sit and this carriage is as good as any." This time his voice was soft but steely, as if subtly threatening them to disobey him. They scooted over, making room for Harry's slim form to sit and Draco didn't say a word about it.

The ride to Hogwarts was stuffy, indeed.

From the carriage, flying through the air, Harry watched as the last speckle of sun-drop faded, leaving behind only silver splatters for stars against the cool dark night. The lights of the castle far ahead called to him.

He had seen pictures of Hogwarts before, of the great castles with its many towers, many torrents, sitting on the edge of a cliff that lifted it to heights suitable for its greatness. He'd seen pictures of the lake sparkling with the moonlight, the Quidditch field flowing with brooms, the dungeons crawling with darkness. His mum had been a photo nut when she was younger and had never had enough pictures of her home-away-from-home, taking so many that it was possible to build a smaller but perfectly matching model of the magical castle with the moving photos. Most of the pictures were those of smiling children barely old enough to be called teens, of bright days and warm nights, of the things she had thought most important. Such pictures, pictures of a time of innocence, had always been so important to her.

As such, Harry had thought that as he got from the flying carriage, he wouldn't be surprised at the castle's appearance, that he might even be familiar with it. The scary part was that it was true. As soon as his foot stepped off, as his eyes took in the greatness of it all, he realized that he'd come home. Hogwarts was calling and now that he was here, it welcomed its son home.

Draco got out as well, his two lumbering followers trailing after. When he turned and saw Harry, staring at the castle, he rolled his eyes and said, "Are you coming or not?"

Harry shook his head slowly, letting the familiarity of it all settle away from him and set off to the castle.

The night was crowded, Harry thought, crowded with the feel of so many people. He had spent most of his life, save for the times when Leo was being interviewed or when he had gone to a city for a brief stay, with no more than ten people nearby at one time. Even as a child, he'd been brought up thinking that the world was small with very few people total. Now, with many hundreds pressing down on him, a catlike sense of exactly how near everyone was developed in Harry's head, turning him slightly claustrophobic.

"Harry? Where were you?" Ron came up from behind him. A girl with bushy hair but friendly face followed. "We looked for you on the train."

"You know Potter?" Draco asked, voice a condescending drawl.

Ron flushed and spoke against the boy, starting an argument while Harry pulled himself away, getting lost within the crowd once more of faces, of excitement. His breath caught and for a moment he felt like he was being invaded, trampled upon. The moment passed and Harry took in a deep breath, shaking his head clear of all fear and moving with the crowd, a small bubble of space unconsciously keeping the others from touching him.

They descended through the halls, talking loudly with familiar ghosts or paintings, trumping through the corridors guarded by empty suits of armors. The halls turned like a maze and the students, still talking and laughing, moved through it with an unconcerned air, treading through paths too remembered to be lost. Harry kept to himself, keeping his robes together, arms at his side, fingering his wand while watching the halls go by.

Before they knew it, the group of students reached the Great Hall, divinely lit by its thousands of candles floating overhead. As if an invisible force divided them, the students filtered off, sitting at their designed tables while never breaking in their conversation. Harry followed the closest to a table of busting talk, where books appeared from bags as soon as they were seated and summer adventures became the main topic. Draco seemed to have forgotten the mysterious new student, already consumed in deep conversation over the summer's tidings with his darker friends. Ron had also become firmly inserted in his own group of friends, laughing and sharing their funs. The girl who had been beside him was there now, showing her deep friendship with Ron with her smiles and emotions. There also was another table beside the one he now sat at where the students proudly held their heads, discussing things too distant for Harry to catch.

The front doors, closed with the students' entrance, now boomed open again and a new group now entered, led by a strict professor. They wore on their faces expressions of anxiety and nervousness, hopefulness yet fright, mixtures of wide-eyed wonder and deep-throated dread. The professor led them down the middle of the room, walking with such speed that the young students struggled to keep up, and stopped at the front of the room. She murmured some last-minute instruction, motioning to the parchment in her hand and the dingy hat place on the stool sitting beside her.

The hat straightened and a rip in its seams opened, erupting in a song of explanation that delighted the students. Harry, sitting at the back end of his table, couldn't hear it over the conversation of students still going on.

"The Sorting," a girl beside Harry whispered. "I hope we get some new Ravenclaw girls."

"Quiet," her friend hissed. "I remember getting sorted last year and it was terrifying if anything."

"Jessica Adams," the professor called out, reading the name off her parchment. A frightened little girl, looking younger than her eleven years, stumbled forward, nearly tripping on her robes and the hall erupted in laughter. Harry frowned. Was it customary to laugh at another's fall? He looked up to her and offered her a brief but comforting smile, full of the compassion he felt and, for a moment, she looked back at him and smiled back. When she reached the stool, it was with a straight back.

The Sorting Hat sat on her head for a few seconds before calling out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

And so the minutes passed, each new student getting sorted into his or her new house and each new house welcoming that student with a loud cheer, as if celebrating a victory over the stealing away of that particular student from the house he or she should have been in. None of the others tripped or stumbled, small respite for Harry.

The professor, after the sorting of the last student, nodded her head in satisfaction and lifted the Sorting Hat to move it away.

"One moment, Professor McGonagall," a wise looking elder, sitting in the middle of the professors' table interrupted her. "It seems that we still have a student needing to be sorted.

Dumbledore, Harry identified. Albus Dumbledore, head of the school. Dumbledore looked around and locked eyes with Harry, who stood as McGonagall looked around in mild confusion. Dumbledore tipped his head in a small acknowledging bow as whispers erupted across the room like wildfire. "Harry Potter, would you come up here please?"

Harry started forward, ignoring the whispers but giving a small nod when Ron waved at him, when Ginny caught his eye, when Draco smirked. He walked down the middle of the room, following the first years' path between the tables, aware but not concerned with the eyes trailing after him.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said in greeting. "This is the Sorting Hat. All you do is place it on your head and it will decide which house you belong in." Rather than tell her that living with Sirius and Remus for the past few years had given him a better-than-basic knowledge of Hogwarts, Harry simply nodded in thanks for the explanation and sat on the stool, holding the hat in one hand.

"Now I'm aware that you are older than the usual, but the Sorting Hat should have no trouble with you," McGonagall added in her final words. "So go on, put it on your head." And so Harry did.

"_Well, look what we have here,_" the Sorting Hat began. "_Looks like you were a little late. I haven't sorted anyone your age in quite awhile._"

Harry tried to look up at the hat on his head. 'Uh...'

"_Oh, don't worry, it doesn't mean that you _can't_ be sorted,_" the hat seemed to chuckle. "_It'll just take a bit more imagination._"

'Imagination?' Harry's question was answered when his view of the Great Hall was suddenly frozen.

"_Let's see if you have what it takes to be a Gryffindor_," the hat was muttering to itself and the Great Hall was replaced with swirls and swirls of pictures, pictures from Harry's memories flashing too fact for him to place. But he could sense a pattern: the memories were starting from the present date and slowly regressing, almost like his mind was rewinding itself. The chaos froze, and Harry was startled to realize that he was watching as he was born. "_Yes, it's best if we start from the beginning,_" the hat answered to Harry's surprise.

From then on, Harry's life was in fast-forward, occasionally stopping when the hat decided that he'd shown courage, bravery, or anything else that would make him a perfect Gryffindor. When they reached the present moment, the Great Hall was unfrozen and Harry blinked.

"Now I'm aware that you are older than the usual," she was saying, repeating her earlier words, "but the Sorting Hat should have no trouble with you." Harry looked around and saw the hall watching him with some interest. The hat, previously on his head, now sat with a suspicious innocence in his lap. He glanced over and saw Dumbledore watching with the same interest hidden in his twinkling blue eyes. "So go on, put it on your head." Harry, brows wrinkled in confusion at the repeating scene, did as he was told.

"_Very good, very good,_" Harry caught the hat muttering muttered to itself as he placed it back on his head and the scene froze again. "_But what about Hufflepuff?_"

The trip was repeated four times altogether, each time with the hat starting by looking for a different trait starting with those of a Gryffindor and ending with Slytherin. "_We have to go in order_," it replied when Harry asked why it didn't just do Gryffindor and Slytherin, the two houses he seemed to have the most traits of. "_Or else it wouldn't be fair._"

For the last time, Harry's life was in fast-forward and he was beginning to feel dizzy but enlightened, having seen his life a total of four times from a spectator's view. "_I think that I have my choice,_" the hat's voice echoed one last time in his head as it reached the Great Hall again. Harry closed his eyes to fight the dizziness.

When he blinked his eyes open, he saw McGonagall standing over him once more. "So go on, put it on your head," she ordered, not knowing that she'd already gave that exact order before.

The hat was lying in his lap, the hall was watching him, and Harry very reluctantly brought the hat back up to his head.

But, unlike before, all it did was take in a great breath and shout out, "GRYFFINDOR!" The hall cheered and Harry made his way back down to the Gryffindor table, following the way of those newly sorted.

"Harry," Ron called over the noise. "Harry, come sit over here!"

Harry nodded slightly and passed by his now-settling housemates to sit beside the redhead.

"Harry, this is Hermione," Ron introduced, gesturing to the bushy-haired girl beside him. She smiled at him. "And this is Dean, Seamus, and Neville." The three boys, sitting near and around, raised their faces at the call of their names and nodded in acknowledgement before falling back into a quiet discussion of their own. "They're the guys in our year. Over there's Lavender and Parvati, also in our year." For the next few minutes, Ron listed off the name of every Gryffindor around as if he truly believed Harry would remember each name.

He only stopped when Dumbledore, after McGonagall moved the Sorting Hat back to wherever it belonged, stood and lifted a hand for silence. The hall became silent. "Good evening, students, and welcome back to another year at Hogwarts. The first for some, yet the last for others, but I greet all with the same welcome." There was a loud cheering, some of the older students standing up and punching the air.

The headmaster smiled and cleared his throat, letting the noise die down on its own. "There is, along with the regular announcements, a very special announcement that I think shall wait until the end of dinner. Until then, enjoy your meal and your year here at Hogwarts." He clapped his hands and sat as food fit for kings appeared on the table to the astonished starts of the first years and the hungry grins of the older years.

"And that's Lee, the twins' best friend-"

"Ron, it's dinner time," Hermione chided with a laugh. "Can't you wait? Besides, I hardly think Harry's going to remember every name, are you Harry?" Ron flushed for a moment than chuckled and shrugged his shoulders.

"I guess you're right."

"Did you know that those two used to hate each other's guts?" Ginny whispered loudly, making the two in question blush. "Couldn't stand to be around each other!"

"Ginny!" Hermione hissed in warning but the fourteen-year old merely laughed and waved the older girl away.

Harry looked up, interested. "Truly?" he asked, glancing between Ron and Hermione.

Ginny nodded fervently. "Yes. The screams used to echo all over Hogwarts when they fought their first year. It got better the next year, but then when they discovered that Scabbers was really... really Peter Pettigrew, Ron and Hermione became best friends."

"I heard about that," Harry commented quietly, almost so quietly that those around him had to lean in to hear him. "When did...?"

"Well," Ron scratched the back of his neck, blushing in pleased embarrassment as the attention of those nearby turned to him to hear the well loved story. He pushed away his plate and placed his elbows on the table, hunching over in a very dramatic pose. "It was on a Saturday night, two years back, just before a Hogsmeade trip and I was having trouble sleeping. So I got up and went downstairs to sit down, sort out my thoughts."

As if that was his cue, Seamus snorted into his drink. "Right." The attention turned to him as the funnyman whose breaks added life to the story. "What he really wanted to do was find a place to cry in peace. See, he and Hermione had just had another fight, just as Ron was beginning to realize that he carried feelings for-"

"Whatever the reason," Ron interrupted quickly to the chuckles of the listeners, loving every moment of it. "I was down in the Common Rooms, just sitting."

"He carried _deep_ feelings for Hermione," Seamus added. Ron threw a look at the teen and Seamus pretended to have been stabbed in the heart, gasping and falling to the floor before getting up to the table's laughs.

"_Anyway_," Ron continued with an annoyed tone of voice but he was smiling and laughing with the rest of them, "I was down in the Common Rooms. Being very quiet, I might add."

"He was not," Hermione objected. "I heard him crying."

"That's only because you were coming down to cry too," Ron shot back. "Besides, I wasn't crying."

"Right," Hermione rolled her eyes to the hoots of their friends. "I came down and saw Ron crying so I went over there and we sorted things out."

"We made out," Ron whispered loudly, winking in conspiracy and Hermione whacked him upside the head, sparking more laughter. Other tables now turned to join in with the fun as the couple continued the retelling. "But, after we made out, we decided it would be nice to just stay there for the rest of the night."

"He had fallen asleep like the lazy git he is," Hermione corrected self-righteously, holding her head high to the giggles of her friends. "And he was leaning on me. I was feeling too nice to just get up and let him fall to the floor, so I ended up having to stay-"

"You sure you weren't just too comfy?" one girl asked. "Sleeping under him and all?" Hermione blushed prettily and the girl disappeared before the school's smartest witch figured out who she was and cursed her good. The laughing grew.

"Continuing on with the story," Ron went on, throwing a comforting arm over Hermione's shoulder. "We were there, sleeping, when I woke up because there was something making a lot of noise. I shook 'Mione awake and we stayed still for a long time."

"It felt like forever," Hermione agreed. "Neither of us wanted to move. I thought it was the twins, sneaking around like always, and certainly didn't want to get caught in such a... compromising position," she ended delicately, blushing again.

"Right," several people called out.

"You act like we're scary," Fred said, acting hurt. "Besides, we'd already been spreading rumors about you two for as long as you've been fighting. Everyone already believed you two had nightly romps in the fields of love. Real evidence wouldn't have changed much."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in surprise and Ron whispered loudly, "You two better run before she grabs her wand!" The twins winked and waggled their eyebrows before shooting across the hall as Hermione stood, pitching around her robes in search of her wand.

She sat back down, flushed to the tips, but was laughing in amusement, not the least bit angered by the twins' tactics.

"After about a half hour's wait," Ron continued when the noise calmed back down.

"Five minutes, actually."

"Whatever, after awhile, just when we were about to get up..." Ron paused for suspense and even those who knew the story like the back of their hands tensed in wait, muscles taunt in anxiety. "After awhile... a man came down. Right out of my room, too! Fat, short man, moving like he hadn't had two legs in a long time, like he had forgotten how to walk-"

"I recognized him immediately," Hermione informed their caught listeners. "You'd have to be blind not to. His face is on every wanted poster, the reward for capture one of the highest. Peter Pettigrew it was!"

Harry tensed but hid it by taking a roll and tearing it up. No one noticed.

"If it was just me, I'd have screamed my head off," Ron admitted with a lowered head, grinning mouth. He squeezed Hermione's shoulders and pointed to her proudly. "But for Hermione here, I'd probably be dead. She kept a clear head the entire time. Well maybe not the entire time. I remember her asking me if there was anything we could throw to knock him out." He rolled his eyes and looked at Hermione, eyes admiring. "Honestly, I think sometimes she forgets she a witch."

Hermione smiled and pushed him away in mock indignation. "At least I remembered to bring my wand down with me." She looked up to everyone. "We nearly caught him. He was on the floor, tied up one minute but then gone! The Aurors have no idea exactly how, but the strangest thing is that after, a team of Aurors came around and place magical mice detectors all around the school." She shook her head in confusion. "Honestly, even if Hogwarts had a mouse problem--which we don't--I think the capture of a Dark Wizard more important that getting the rats out!" There were several sounds of agreement and a general sigh of satisfaction as the students made their way back to their seats, story over.

Ron and Hermione cuddled a bit before going back to dinner, making eyes at each other that left those around them in helpless fits of laughter.

Harry looked down into his lap, clenching his fists but his face was emotionless. So close. Had _he_ been at Hogwarts, he'd have recognized Peter's animagus form immediately, having seen it in old pictures of his mum--but no, he ended that train of thought immediately. Dinner passed, leaving Harry unfilled as tension ate up his energy though he made no outside show of it.

Finally, Dumbledore stood as the last of the students finished eating, their plates clearing magically. He droned on a moment with the "usual" announcements, making the older population groan: restrictions, forbidden zones, promised punishments... When he finished, he smiled as though he shared a secret with the students and the room, begun to grow dull, picked back up its mantel of youth and life.

"Now, for the announcement you've all been waiting for: as of today, Hogwarts will be entering a contest." There were startled gasps but the hall was mostly silent, unless the sudden tension rising counted as a noise as it neatly vibrated at every chair. "Many of you remember last year's Triwizard Tournament, a test to see if countries could peacefully compete with one another. Less than two weeks ago, the Ministry of Magic in England declared the contest a success, even though our champion took second place to Viktor Krum of Bulgaria. The Ministries of Bulgaria and France repeated that declaration within days time of each other, and are now promoting a contest that will take the tournament up a step."

Dumbledore paused, blue eyes searching the room. "In the last two weeks, over forty countries across Europe have agreed to compete in a large scale Tournament." Before the noise, beginning to build up from the student body, became too loud, the headmaster stunned them by adding, "And over a hundred countries across the world have pledged to hold their own competitions, their own Tournaments."

There arose such a clamor as the hall had never heard before, the students excited beyond measure though few realized the true significance of the news. They didn't realize that, within the last few thousand years, there has never been in recorded history such a massive agreement worldwide. The Triwizard Tournament was closed down years before on the account of the rising tensions between countries as well as the dangerousness of the tasks. Some countries had even had their magical communities at war after a Tournament. Now, worldwide, the magical people were finally ready to commit themselves to a peaceful competition after last year's trial run, ready to work with those of foreign parties for a fun and invigorating time.

"You heard correctly," Dumbledore continued to the flat-out disbelief of some students. "Last Tuesday to be exact, the Ministries of the world gathered together in an unprecedented meeting to discuss fully the details of such large-scale competitions. Each Minister, however, has been magically sworn to secrecy so not even I can share the least detail of the competitions beyond the details they've already shared with us."

"At least that'll cut back on cheating," some student from the Hufflepuff table called out. Dumbledore smiled kindly at them.

"They're mad because last year, every champion knew about the first task but ours," Ron whispered in explanation to Harry. "See, the champions had to face down a nesting dragon, get past her, and grab a gold egg that was with the rest of her eggs. Cedric, last year's champion, had no idea what to do and nearly froze out there."

"If he had known and had been ready for it, we'd have won," Hermione added vengefully. The Gryffindors nearby nodded in silent agreement.

"The details I do know are this: the wizarding community, with all of the countries currently participating--and the numbers are growing daily--has been divided into seven sectors." With a wave of his wand, the lights went out and Dumbledore conjured up a large glowing globe to show what he meant. "The countries of South America will all compete against each other, as will those of North America. Those in Europe will compete against our countries, and Africa and Asia have similarly been named as regions. The many islands of the southwest Pacific Ocean have been grouped together with the continent of Australia to form the Oceania region, and the countries collectively known as the Middle East have formed their own region as well."

He waved his wand again, reliting the candles and erasing the glowing globe. His face suddenly grew serious. "As with last year, there is an age limit: seventh years only." To the groans, he raised an unforgiving hand. "This is only for your safety. The tasks that will occur this year will be... much more dangerous that those of last. I know only three, but they make me worry about the sanctity of this competition." Instead of concerning the students, his grave words only sparked excitement in the older seventh years.

"No, this is not going to be a game," he continued in his grave voice. "For those of you who wish to enter, I seriously ask that you consider exactly why you want to. The prize money, while great, is not worth the risk of serious injury. Pride may be a factor as well, but it better to have a wounded pride than to be maimed." His blue eyes sought out those of the eager seventh years, making some gulp and squirm while others stared back, stiff with pride and readiness to face their difficulties.

He cleared his throat and managed a kind smile, dissolving the room's tension. "Now, onto lighter matters," he joked, bringing out some chuckles. "Many of you remember Madame Maxine, headmistress of the French school, Beauxbatons." They nodded.

"Maxine?" Harry repeated in a whisper, sounding the name out on his tongue.

"The Ministers of Europe, gathered together, have decided that her school will be hosting the European Wizard Tournament." The room, during Dumbledore's speech, seemed to have gathered all its noise for it so erupted with voices. Students whispered excitedly with each other, talking of the French champion's boasts of her school's superiority over Hogwarts. Many of them felt that this was the opportunity to see the school first hand and correct her misguided presumption.

"The Ministers," Dumbledore explained, "felt that France was sufficient in the fact that it is a world center, renown for its mastery in the arts. And the fact that its school has been enlarged over the summer, able to fit many more students than any other school, helped with its choosing." His eyes twinkled good-naturedly.

Harry leaned forward, elbows on the table and hands forming a cup-like station to rest his chin on as he thought about the latest developments. During the war, Voldemort had had many troubles fighting against Great Britain. Alone, the country stood to face off the Dark Lord when all others had fallen. It had been a repeat-scenario of the muggles' World War II, especially considering the fact that the rest of the world was content to let Voldemort satisfy himself with Europe, too dimwitted to realize that after Britain fell and Europe collapsed, the dark wizard would come after the rest of the world. America had helped with hidden donations, secret fighters, and unseen reinforcements, perhaps being the reason Britain lasted so long alone. But of all the European world powers, France had been the first to fall.

While strong in the arts, France lacked any serious military-type training for its wizards. The British Aurors would often joke to each other that when Voldemort came to France, they fought him off with paintbrushes and stone chisels. The story often went that France boasted of its strength, of its ability to fight off any invader... yet its magical community was defeated after only a single week of fighting.

But, whenever one made fun of France's weakness, they were too willing to point out others that, instead of falling under Voldemort's wrath, joined him: Russia, Poland, Hungary, Bulgaria, Estonia--there were many. Going to France, only five years after it had managed to throw off Voldemort's dark cloud and rebuild itself... would be an interesting experience, indeed.

"We, as a school, will be journeying there in two weeks. For all of you under the age limit or who don't wish to enter, tours and travels around France should provide enough of a distraction to keep you from boredom. But those who wish to enter will be expected to stay on the school grounds at all times. We wouldn't want out champion to get lost in Paris after being chosen, now would we?"

The night was growing and Harry felt the tugging of sleep at his eyes. He silently wished the professor would hurry.

"Professor McGonagall will be standing in for me at times throughout the year when I need to be in France. Would you like to add anything, professor?" he asked, turning to direct the question to the Deputy Headmistress.

McGonagall stood, looking around the school's population as if she could already tell who would be Hogwarts's champion. "We will be staying at Beauxbatons for a single week before returning back to Hogwarts. While you are there, remember that you represent not only Hogwarts but the whole of the United Kingdoms." This comment looked to be directed to certain troublemakers--especially the twins, who grinned at the attention, winking. McGonagall frowned but didn't react further. "I would also like to say to whoever the champion is: do your best, but don't kill yourself trying to grab a golden egg from in front of a dragon foolishly, like a certain someone did last year."

Though the students laughed, McGonagall didn't look like she was joking. Her frown deepened and she sat down, turning the attention back to Dumbledore.

"Well said, professor," he said, dipping his head towards her. He looked at the students again. "I see that, for some of you, this has quickly turned into a fight against sleep. Before you are dismissed to bed, I'd like to ask that any further questions you have be directed to Professor McGonagall or myself. If we know the answer, we shall tell you but remember that this Wizard Tournament is a mystery on many fronts to us both."

He dipped his head towards the students. "Good night, and enjoy your first night back at Hogwarts."

*

"Can you imagine?" Hermione asked excitedly, leading along the group of trudging first years behind her, a Prefects badge shining brightly on her robes. "The whole world! How exciting!"

"Hermione, it's just a contest," Ron pointed out, hiding a yawn beneath his hand. "Just a contest. And for seventh years, like last year. Before you know it, we'll have come and gone from France, be back at Hogwarts, doing homework and forgetting all about it."

"Not if the twins get picked," Dean contradicted, walking behind them. Seamus and other older Gryffindors, ready to turn in, joined the first years. Everyone who wasn't ready to drop dead on his or her feet seemed to be tingling, almost floating with excitement. It was a welcome evening to end an exciting day, news still racing around everyone's skulls. "If they do, I'll bet five Galleons that you get Hermione to make posters or something, maybe even start a cheer."

Dean snorted behind him then raised his voice and cried out, "Go, Weasley, Go! Kick some French, German, Austrian, Russian-"

"We get it, we get it," Lavender protested from behind him but Dean kept on going.

"-Albania, Greek, Italian, Irish-"

"Three Galleons says he runs out of countries before he names them all," Seamus whispered to Neville, who, after a moment's thought, declared, "You're on!" and they shook.

"-Iceland, Polish, Turkish, Finnish-"

"Are nights always like this?" Harry asked delicately, not wanting to sound insulting.

Ginny rolled her eyes and declared, "Goodness, no! If they were, the whole school would be insane."

"-Spanish, Portugal, Romania, Swedish-"

"Then again," she added in a tone dripping with sarcasm. "Most of the school's _already_ mad."

They tromped from the Great Hall and down a corridor, past several halls and continued going until Harry swore Hermione had merely forgotten the way and was simply leading them wherever her heart so desired. But then, she turned right in the Hogwarts's maze and led up a flight of stairs. When the stairs began moving with only half of the first years to the other side, Lee and the twins had jumped onto the moving staircase and swore to lead the stranded group back to the friendly zone, though it cost them their lives.

Ginny noted with no little humor that the stairs the twins had been stuck on now led towards the Slytherin's common rooms. Out of the enemy's lair and back to a friendly zone indeed.

Hermione, not wasting a moment, urged the remaining students not to worry (several first years looked at her like she was mad) and led up again towards a portrait of a very fat lady, watching them with an examining air.

"-Norway, Lithuanian, Estonian, Latvian-" 

"This is the Fat Lady," Hermione introduced and Ron snickered. She whapped him playfully upside the head. "She's guarding the Gryffindor common rooms but all you need to do is give her the password and she'll move aside."

Harry watched the Fat Lady with interest. How could a portrait protect a sleeping area? One need only to threaten her sufficiently or remove her... but then again, the entrance was protected magically so there was no telling what such acts might do. Close the entrance off until help arrives? Seal the students inside with no way in or out? With magic, there was no real way to correctly guess the outcome of such wild situations.

"-Belgium, Danish, Macedonian, Czechoslovakian-"

"I think he's going to go all the way," a first year whispered.

"Naw," Seamus shook his head. "Dean used to go to Muggle School and I heard he failed geography."

"He failed?" Neville repeated, horrified. He looked back and forth between the now-struggling Dean and the smug Seamus. "You cheat!"

"-Ukrainian, Switzerland, Netherlands, Slovakian-"

"Usually," Hermione's voice continued in the background, being heard by Harry but not really being paid any other attention. She noticed the other students' wandering attention and cleared her throat noisily, gathering their slightly-abashed faces, and started over again. "Usually, the password changes once a month, in case of a leak. If you do get caught telling other houses the passwords-"

"You'll get smacked!" Seamus injected wildly.

"Seamus!" Hermione cried out. "That's not true."

But Seamus rubbed his hands together, glaring with a hilarious-but-threatening look at the first years who, dutifully, did their best to look frightened while holding back a fit of giggles. "Oh, yes it is. The day a Slytherin enters the common rooms is the day a first year gets sacrificed-"

"If you get caught sharing passwords," Hermione brushed Seamus aside, "you'll get fifty points taken away as well as a month's detention. And you won't be told the passwords for the rest of the year. Meaning you'll have to wait outside until someone lets you in."

"Mind you," Neville interrupted, sending a pleading look to Hermione to cut the bossy attitude off. "It's never actually happened to anyone before. Just, don't tell anyone the password and you'll be fine."

"Ahoy!" someone shouted from the bottom of the stairs. There was a mad rush as people ran over and looked down, ignoring Hermione's shrieks of the danger in hanging over the rail. Down, several floors below and climbing quickly with an almost urgent air, were the twins, Lee, and the group of first years left in their care. A few stories below them, climbing with a violent air, was a group of wet-looking Slytherins.

"Scourge me timbers, we be at the tower," Fred called out, faking a pirate accent, leading the pack and jumping two stairs at a time. He stopped and waved the weary but grinning first years up. "Up with ye, up with ye. Don't want the sharks bitin' at ye legs, now do ya?"

"Open the portrait!" George, Lee, and half the first years cried out.

"Get back here!" a Slytherin ordered. "You're not getting away this time, Weasleys!"

"Why, if it ain't Red Bottoms 'imself," Fred shouted, looking down at the red-faced Slytherin. "What'cha doin', climnin' me mountain?"

"Just you wait," the Slytherin promised, huffing and trying to catch up. "Wait 'til I catch you-"

"Hermione, what's the password?" Ron asked innocently, drawing the attention back to the Fat Lady.

Hermione looked flushed. "Oh yes. It's...um..."

"'Hermione!"

"Marmalade!" Hermione jerked in front of the portrait. "It's marmalade."

"Very good on bread," the Fat Lady replied as she swung open, showing the Gryffindor common rooms. The students rushed in as the twins' group barreled in behind them. Fred, still a few dozen feet away, gasped out in mock martyrdom.

"They're coming," he gasped, dramatically slowing. "Close the door--_they must not get in!_"

"What about you, Fred?" a first year who'd traveled with the twin on whatever prank Fred pulled asked.

"You can make it," another yelled and soon, the first years were chanting the phrase: "_Come on, Fred. You can make it! Come on, Fred. You can make it!_"

Fred, gathering strength from the chants, picked himself up and ran to the portrait, leaping in just as the Fat Lady swung shut. The first years erupted into a cheer, all coming up and patting Fred on the back, telling him how awesome he was and altogether engulfing him in a fit of hero-worship.

"Jeez," Ron rolled his eyes and looked away, faking disgust. At the portrait, pounding and the use of foul language could be heard as the Slytherin group reached the Fat Lady only to be turned away.

"-Croatia, Moldova, Andorra...uh, Finland-"

"You already said that!" Seamus shouted out in triumph.

"Not uh," Neville defended. "He said, uh, Bosnia! Not Finland."

"Don't try to cheat Neville," Lee advised. "Your eyebrow twitches when you lie."

"It does not," Neville protested but he brought up a hand to cover his eyebrows to the amusement of the other Gryffindors. More students trailed in, asking about the group of fuming Slytherins on the way down and cracking up when they heard the story.

The common rooms, decorated as they were in gold and red, sparked within Harry yet another sense of intimacy, of déjà vu. While the others slowed down, letting the night calm them with its sleepy touch, Harry wandered around the shimmering room, trying to recall whether he'd actually been there before... or if the familiarity was just a figment of his imagination. He wound around, letting his hands trail along the hanging draperies, the comfortable chairs, walking around to face the portraits or to warm his hands at the fire. The confidential feeling the room gave to him, comforting though it was, sparked within Harry a distinct uneasiness.

Why did Hogwarts feel like the home he lost years before, the home destroyed in the same attack that took his parents' lives?

"Harry?" Hermione noticed his thoughtful expression. "Something wrong?"

He gazed at the table with its set of wizard's chess, feeling something tugging at his heart and shook his head, hoarsely answering, "No."

Behind his back, he could feel Hermione exchanging a look with Ron and quickly said, "I'm heading down to the Owlery, to send a letter back home."

As he reached the door, Ron stood and announced that he'd be going too. "Need to tell mum about the tournament," he said in explanation, but couldn't reach Harry's eyes--a sure sign of lying. Hermione, too, remembered some important owl that desperately needed to be sent and invited herself to come along.

Harry shrugged, not truly caring.

"Harry..." Hermione faltered in her words as they walked along the school. Harry looked up to see her face torn in hesitation. "Do I... do I know you? Because it feels like we've met before."

"Yea, me too," Ron quickly agreed. "I mean, even that night you stayed at my house, it felt like we were old buddies. Course, I never met you before and everyone thought your parents were dark and all. It's all cleared up now, now that we know about Leonard."

Harry fought the urge to flinch at how easily the wizarding world excused their suspicion. "No, I don't think I've ever known you before," he answered Hermione in quick, slicing tones. Hermione bit her tongue and they reached the school's owlery in silence.

"Is that your owl?" Ron asked when Hedwig flew up, dark tips giving her a unique look. Ron's breath caught in admiration. "She's beautiful."

"Thanks," Harry replied softly, losing some of his formality at the compliment. "The dealer swore to me she was too old but she's so far proved herself reliable." Hedwig clucked in greeting, swooping down from her perch to land on Harry's outstretched arm. Harry looked her over and frowned.

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked, trying not to lose the fragile trust growing between the three.

"Nothing really... except," Harry held up one of Hedwig's wings. "Look. Before, only the very tips were black but now..." Now, the blackness was spreading like a disease, reaching to half-up the wing feathers.

"You don't think she's sick do you?" Ron stepped closer, examining the owl. Harry shook his head.

"I've never seen anything like it," Hermione whispered. "But it doesn't seem to be hurting her." She pursed her lips before adding, "I'll look it up, see what I can find."

Ron chuckled. "Have I forgotten to add that Hermione's our local genius?" he asked Harry. "If she doesn't know something, no student will. And her second home's the library where she spends more time than in the common rooms."

Hermione grinned proudly, taking Ron's joking tone as a compliment and Harry smiled softly. To his two new friends, it lit up his face like the sun in the sky. Before, he looked alone but not lonely, as if where everyone else yearned for human comfort he despised it, making him something more than human, something less than human. But when he smiled, his humanity showed itself to be greater than normal in the kind curves of his lips, the compassionate twinkle in his eyes.

Not noticing their stares, Harry removed a letter from his pocket, took out a quill and in gracefully spiraling letters, addressed the note to Leo. Then he tied the parchment to Hedwig's leg and lifted his arm, giving her the space to take off. Her wings spread out and she cried out a goodbye as she took to the sky, black tips fading and leaving only the white roots to sprinkle light against the moon.

Harry watched her leave and looked back to the two Gryffindors. "Ready to go back?"

Ron nodded, leading the way. Harry decided not to mention the fact that neither of them had brought the mentioned letters.

And, just as with the odd sense of déjà vu that threatened his day, Harry fell into the duo's footsteps, falling into a friendship that felt as natural as breathing. The ease of his transition into Hogwarts soothed Harry's agitation... and irritated it for some reason, as though the whole day of normalcy was an extreme act bound to fall before the play reached the second stage.

While Harry fought his rattled nerves, Ron and Hermione exchanged a look that shared their feelings: their circle of friendship was complete with this stranger. As though his entrance into Hogwarts was magic, Harry's presence made them feel whole, the return of a missing piece, and they vowed, in their locked gaze, not to let the circle be broken again.


	13. Chapter XII

****

Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

__

"Why do you keep smiling to yourself, Phebe?"

"I was thinking about a nice little secret I know, and couldn't help smiling."

"Shall I know it sometime?"

"Guess you will."

"Shall I like it?"

"Oh, won't you though!"

Eight Cousins, Louisa May Alcott

****

Chapter XII

"Harry, could you stay a moment?" Professor McGonagall asked. Harry paused from where he was picking up his school bag and nodded, sitting back down into his seat.

"See you later, mate," Ron whispered, passing by. Hermione whispered the same thing and the class left, trailing away in a shocked silence as they were brutally reminded that summer really _was_ the end of their fun, that school involved hard work, and that some teachers never lost their cruel habit of assigning too much homework.

When the last of the students drained out of the Transfiguration classroom, closing the door and cutting off the early complaints about assignments, McGonagall looked up to see Harry still sitting in the back of the class. "Well, do come up here, Mr. Potter," she told him, eyes drifting back to a collection of papers on her desk. "I'm not prone to biting students."

Harry stood and made his way down to her desk at the front of the class, standing very still.

The windows were open and through them drifted in the sounds of play. Monday, though it was (and the first Monday at that), many students felt like summer was not yet over and were using their passing time to catch a bit of sun before the next class. Some were out, talking excitedly with the first years who were preparing for their first flying lessons while others used the time to pull quick pranks. Someone had brought back a collection of muggle water guns and even now held the plastic weapon under her arm, in a position where she could attack without suspect. Her friends, all Ravenclaws, were now pulling out the big guns, soaking friends from a distance and running before they got caught. A craze was even taking over the school as muggle-born students owled home for supplies and wizarding students gathered together for magical retaliation. Which might have worked, had they been allowed to use magic in the halls without punishment.

Fred and George thought the muggle attack hilarious, and even planned on adding some muggle-based products on their growing list of invention. It seemed the season for the wizarding world to embrace muggles.

"Because you've missed your first four years," McGonagall's voice rang through the noise and Harry quickly looked to her. She still had her face down, looking through the stacks for some undetectable paper but as she spoke, her beady eyes darted up, watching Harry's face through her glasses. "You'll need to take a few tests, to see if what we've heard of you is true."

"What have you heard of me?"

"Well, that your mother home-schooled you from early childhood, just as your guardians are now home-schooling your brother." McGonagall stopped as though even the brief mention of Leo caused her to sigh in admiration. So much power, her face was telling Harry. So much power your brother must possess. "Remus and Sirius owled the headmaster during the summer, bragging of your advance knowledge despite formal schooling but I must admit that much of their accounts seem to be empty boasting." Her eyes challenged him to deny it.

"My mother did teach me," Harry said in the pause that followed, feeling like she deliberately stopped to make him talk. "From her old school books, actually. But, I don't think I'm too advanced." He swallowed his tongue at the straight lie.

McGonagall nodded her head approvingly, going back to her desktop search. "I'd guessed as much," her voice clipped out. "Even if Lily taught you with her old books, the curriculum has changed greatly from her years here, bless her soul."

"Of course, professor." Neither Harry nor McGonagall dared to add that while the curriculum had changed, it hadn't necessarily changed for the better. The years that Lily and James had gone to Hogwarts had been much more difficult because, with the rising of Voldemort, classes had been stepped up a notch to better prepare graduating students for the dark world they'd face upon leaving the school grounds. A world torn up in bitter war and betrayal, where best friends couldn't be trusted lest they be turned against you. 

With the fall of Voldemort only five years ago, classes had been brought back down to their normal status. Some of the things Lily had taught her prodigy son were no longer taught, had in fact been outlawed in public schooling as being dangerous, reckless, and far too advanced for young minds to handle.

"After each day this week, you will be expected to arrive here, prompt, after dinner. Each day, you will be tested on the material fifth years students should know. Now Harry," she paused, thinking her words over carefully, "do not be scared to admit that you don't know something. No one can blame you. Just do your best and, if you struggle with something, you'll be placed where you can best grow. Do you have any questions?"

Harry shook his head silently and McGonagall dismissed him to his next class, giving him less than a minute to get to the dungeons.

He ran.

*

"Congratulations," Snape sneered and the less brave students cowed before his wrath. "On stumbling through yet another year. How many of you managed to pass is a mystery, since very few of you seem to possess the brain power to remember that certain ingredients _cannot be added together!_"

Neville, singed from the roots of his eyebrows to the hair just beginning to grow on his chin, quailed in his seat as the smoke rising from his burned face stung his eyes. His fingernails dug into his hand, willing himself not to cry. He was a Gryffindor, after all. His parents raised him to be brave, his father was one of the best Aurors out there--next only to Alastor Moody, who was now teaching at Hogwarts, and Sirius Black, who only worked part time since the fall of Voldemort. What would his father think to see his son, flinching at the words of a known Death Eater?

Hermione raised her hand shakily from beside Neville, hair smelling like smoke and the very tips of its smoldering with bits of fire. "Professor Snape, can we go to the hospital wing?"

Snape glared at her. "Did I give you permission to speak, Miss Granger?"

"No-"

"Then you will wait until I do so." He paced to the front of the classroom, black robes billowing like storm clouds behind him. (Today's forecast: dark clouds with the high chance of rain, along with a spectacular lightning show.)

He reached his desk and sat down, glaring at the Gryffindor side of the room while the Slytherins smirked smugly. "_Five_ points from Gryffindor, for being incredibly stupid. Another five from Gryffindor, for Miss Granger's cheek as well as for her inability to prevent this accident." Hermione made a sound of protest and the Gryffindors groaned while the Slytherins grinned. Snape looked up angrily. "Shall I make it _ten_ points, Miss Granger-"

His rant was cut off when the Potions door opened up. Coming through the entrance was a tall boy, slim and cloaked in black robes that surged behind him as he half-ran in, moving in the wind that his running created. His skin looked too richly tanned for the dark dungeons. When he entered, he gave a great sigh of relief and wearily dropped his bags down at one of the empty front tables, walking up to Snape. "I'm sorry, professor, but Professor McGonagall kept me after class."

"Mr. Potter, are you telling me that it took you ten minutes to make your way from the Transfigurations classroom down to my classroom?" The room braced for an explosion when Harry, head down, nodded. What they got: Snape exhaled angrily then waved his hand. "Take you seat, Potter. Mr. Malfoy," Draco's head jerked up. "Tell Potter what he's missed."

"But-" Draco cut off his comment at the strangely angry look Snape directed towards him and made his sully way to join Harry at the front desk.

Snape cleared his throat and looked around. "What are you gaping at?" he barked and the class flinched, save for the still smug Slytherins. "Granger, take Longbottom down to the hospital wing. And Longbottom, I suggest you stay there until you learn that the mush between your ears is, in fact, useful." Hermione's chair scrapped against the floor and she helped the traumatized Neville out of his seat. "As for the rest of you, I expect your potions to be correctly made. The next potion that explodes loses twenty points. Do I make myself clear?"

There were some startled gasps from the Gryffindor side as well as many wishful/panicked looks sent to Hermione's retreating back. Their genius was leaving now of all times! Snape gave the room a final glare and turned, spinning on his feet to go back into his office and leaving the room alone.

"How on earth did you manage that?" Draco hissed. "You, a Gryffindor!"

"Manage what?"

Draco motioned towards the Potions Master's office door. "Manage not getting blown up. Sure, Slytherins get away with coming in late, but a Gryffindor?" He looked over Harry suspiciously. "Do you know the professor from somewhere?"

Harry's back stiffened. "No. What potion are we making."

The Slytherin waved a lazy hand. "A simple healing draught. Something any idiot can make." The loud comment was met with several sneers from Gryffindors, loud guffaws from Slytherins.

Harry went to work, sorting out the ingredients and splicing, dicing, and peeling--whatever needed to be done. Draco watched him for a moment incredulously. "You're actually going to make it?" he finally said. Harry nodded curtly. "Why?"

Harry stopped and looked up, locking his burning green eyes on the cloudy crystal eyes of Draco. "Why not?"

"Well... Snape obviously thinks you're a Slytherin," Draco drawled. "Or else, that you should have been one. He'll treat you like one of us, and we really don't have to make those potions in here. Unless we want to."

Harry looked around. The Gryffindors were frantically whispering among themselves, trying to use their collective knowledge to brew the potion correctly. They worked like ants, crawling from table to table, sharing the wealth of information while they collected more for the rest to use. Everyone was trying to get their own potion done while helping the rest.

The Slytherins, however, laughed at their rivals' attempts, visibly mocking the Gryffindors while they themselves lounged, talking and gossiping. Any potion making was merely for show, or else for personal benefit as Harry saw several girls grabbing ingredients to prepare a shallow truth serum. Occasionally, a Slytherin would call out an insult against one of the Gryffindors. They painfully reminded Harry of his own little brother, especially times when Leo didn't want to do anything but be lazy.

'No,' he argued against the demon-drawn comparison. 'Leo's not like that at all.'

Tensions rose and Snape, in his closed office, didn't seem to care if his students started fighting each other as long as his peace remained undisturbed.

Harry's face darkened. Standing up, ignoring Draco's hisses to sit back down, the black-haired boy marched to the front of the classroom and developed a waiting position, casting his eyes about the class and challenging those who looked at him. The noise settled into a stunned silence. _No one_ ever approached Snape's desk unsupervised.

Harry cleared his throat and began. "For those of you who don't know, this particular healing drought is quite easy and quite useful. Say, for instance, you decide to go play Quidditch. By drinking this potion before you play, you not only lower your chances of getting a serious injury, but you also increase your body's healing time if you do get injured." He spoke in soft, measured tones, a voice he knew caught Leo's ever-wandering attention.

The Slytherins paused in their lounging, studying this new student who suddenly took over the room, raking their eyes along his body in the way they knew caused discomfort. Harry didn't seem to notice.

"Like I said, it's very easy to make," he continued. "But, some of you don't seem to know how to make such an easy potion." He nodded towards the Slytherin side and they bristled.

"Or some of us seem to think it's too easy," one called out angrily. He waved his hand to encompass the room. "Why should we waste our time learning something we already know?"

"So you get better," Harry replied curtly.

"You think you're so smart?" another asked snidely. "I bet that's the only healing potion you know how to make."

Harry paused and turned to look at the girl. "What exactly would you bet?"

She shrugged as though to show her own disinterest, but her eyes seemed to grow in hunger of a challenge. "Oh, I don't know... thirty Galleons?"

The room erupted in hoots as she made her claim and she smiled wickedly, daring Harry to take her on.

Harry stared at her a moment then, almost casually, drew into his robes, into a pocket, and pulled out a handful of twinkling golden coins, stunning the class into silence again. "What potion do you have in mind?"

"Wolfsbane," she announced after a moment's thought. "Made right here, right now."

"No," Harry darted away. Her smile grew. "It wouldn't be fair to you." At the confused looks on the room's faces, Harry added, "I live with a werewolf. You're asking me to make a potion that, for the last four years of my life, I've made on a monthly basis." There were some whistles of admiration.

"Gryffindors," Draco suddenly snorted, standing tall as the Slytherins' representative. "Too good for their own good." He glanced over to the girl. "Don't you know any harder potions, Pansy."

"None legal, Draco."

Draco rubbed his chin then smiled, a slow smile that corrupted his face. "Make the Drought of Living Death," he commanded. "The seventh year N.E.W.T.s potion." He pulled from his own pocket a handful of coins, spilling them onto his table. Some of the students saw stars and their fingers itched.

Harry stared at the boy for a moment, eyes and face blank of all emotion, then he dropped his Galleons onto the table.

Immediately, chairs scrapped against the floor as Harry chose a cauldron. "Here," Ron pushed his forward. "Use mine." Harry nodded his thanks then pulled off his robes.

"Guard the office," Draco whispered to one of his housemates and the boy nodded, darting off to stand before Snape's door. Draco folded his arms across his chest, smiling darkly as he watched Harry prepare.

The Gryffindors crowded around him, leaving enough space for him to work but preventing any attempts from the Slytherins to botch the potion. They needn't worry; the Slytherins pulled up their chairs to watch in interest but stayed away, determined to let the Gryffindor fail on his own.

Harry could almost remember reading the passage on this potion as a child, his mother standing around him, dancing around his lounging body as she attempted to make dinner with him studying. He would have moved to get out of the way, but she was determined to be nearby if he had trouble.

__

"Mum, what's this?" Harry asked, pointing to the squabble of words whose meanings evaded him.

Lily put down her bucket of sugar and moved over. "What, sweetie?" He pointed. "Oh..." Her voice took on a shushed tone. "It's the Drought of Living Death." Harry didn't understand any better. "It's a potion that makes a person go to sleep and stay asleep for a long time, so long that everyone else thinks that the person died."

"Oh." Harry looked down to the words again, comprehension dawning. Beside the list of instructions was a picture, crudely drawn, of a person drinking a glass of the potion. As he drank it, the person collapsed to the floor and Harry could imagine how others would think him dead. The image didn't move, didn't even look like he was breathing or that his heart was beating. He swallowed but curiosity sparked him.

"You won't have to learn about it until your O.W.L.s," Lily reminded him. "When you're in your fifth year at Hogwarts."

"He won't have to learn any of this until he gets to Hogwarts," James laughed. "But he still is."

Harry's eyes traveled past the still motionless body and he looked at the list of ingredients. Two and 1 quarter liters of purified water. Crushed dogwood, picked in the ripeness of spring or else the potion would lose it vitality. Seeds of a May apple, ground down to a fine salt. Flax petals, and linseed oil, squeezed from flaxseed. Powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood...

Harry counted off the instructions, adding the ingredients, as they were needed. The cauldron, its water turned a bubbly brown and evaporating quickly, shook as it sat heated by wizard's flame. His fellow classmates were watching, half-transfixed, as he effortlessly completed the potion. With a toss of his hand, he threw in the last ingredient--Sora egg--and ducked his head when the potion exploded in a great boom.

Snape's door flung open, soundly smacking the Slytherin boy before it. "What is going on here?" he growled, taking in the fact that not a single student was in his or her rightful seat, but also noticing with disgust that the Gryffindor side had each cauldron bubbling the same, correct color-

Save for one. At the front table, where Potter and Malfoy sat. The cauldron there was sizzling and beside it lay a good deal of money.

"Malfoy, what is going on here?" he barked.

"A duel, of sorts," Draco added, glancing over with some of his smugness to see that Harry's potion looked ill finished. "Potter dared us to challenge him, so we did."

"And what, pray tell, did you tell him to make?" the Potions Master bite out

"The Drought of Living Death."

Snape rolled his eyes and thought about simply skipping out of the class, leaving the students alone to maim and kill each other as they saw fit. Instead, with an exasperated sigh and a mutter of child idiocy, he stalked over to the smoking cauldron and waved the smoke away.

"It's finished, sir," Harry said politely, taking his seat. "All it needs now is to be frozen for seven days."

Snape looked down into the cauldron and saw, to his immense surprise, the correct result of the drought's brewing: a small round ball of clay, beginning to ooze in the dungeon's heat, but glowing with unnatural if magical light. With a whisper, Snape transported the drought to his storage and turned on the class, forbidding as always.

"I suppose you think I'm pleased that you managed to correctly brew such a potion by yourselves, reading from a book no doubt," he drawled cruelly. "I award Gryffindor two points." There was a mutter of dissent but Snape wasn't done. "And I take away one point, for using my ingredients without permission."

Now the Gryffindors swore but silenced as they realized exactly what teacher they were dealing with. Thankfully, Snape only raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He moved around the room now, checking on the potions and was forced to admit that the Gryffindors correctly brewed their potion.

"Now get out," he barked and they scrambled.

*

It was late in the evening. And Hogwarts sparkled.

The end of the start of a new week. In the Forbidden Forest, the centaurs looked up mournfully, eyeing the War Planet with distrust as its red light shined brighter and brighter. Mars, planet of the Greek and Roman god of war, went bloody in sky, signaling the presence and return of evil. It had been banished away years ago, with the failed attempt to resurrect the Dark Lord, but in the last few months the Red Planet grew closer, greater in color. Not good, for the people of the earth.

The unicorns frolicked by, swishing their tails as they tried to entice the serious centaurs to a game of chase but were coldly ignored. Undaunted, the hoofed beauties cried out shrilly, dancing and prancing along the familiar straits, nipping soft lips against the floating cotton buds. But they carefully avoided the cursed spot where the blood of one of their own had been spilt. Silver flowers, beautiful but deadly, warned away any unfortunate soul who happened upon the tragic place. Silver flowers that swayed to no breeze or earthly power, but waited for the chance to avenge the fallen unicorns by taking victims of their own.

Owls hooted in the night, creating their own magical song. Insects buzzed their flying wings and in the distance, the lone howl of a wolf cried out: "_Come. I'm alone. Find me. I need you_." 

Bees danced their way to sweet night nectar and birds swooped in for a midnight feast. Crickets counted the hours 'til the morning, keeping watch of the falling chill. Far to the north, a dragon hatched, alone and abandoned when its parents were hunted from the area.

A glowing light, in the heart of the forest, and a song that lifted the ear called out the to prancing unicorns. They lent ear, neighing and adding their own notes, standing still in singing tribute. In the heart of the forest, a small fire steadily burned and as sudden as it began, it went out, taking with it the life of the undying bird. Majestically, the phoenix rose from its ashes, taking flight and spilling the golden light of its rebirth upon the inhabitants of its domain.

Crouching low, the black panther stalked the night, pausing as the bird flew over. With a lonely howl, the wolf leaped after the phoenix, playing a friendly game to keep the loneliness away but eventually getting abandoned as the bird flew too high. The unicorns fought against the air, raising up on their hind legs and calling out to the phoenix a greeting before returning to their games. The centaurs watched the rebirth, eyes locked to the heavens and minds working out the signs they saw there.

All life of the forest paused to greet the reborn king, and it flew over all. Even the slithering things, hissing in the pain of its approach, were forced to tribune. Cerberus, three-headed protector of the underworld, called "Fluffy" by the man who loved him, snapped playfully at the flying creature, all heads watching its travel across the sky.

Away and away, a barking cry carried on the wind. The wolf, howling again its painful solitude, perked its ears and called out an answer.

The cry came again and the wold bounded down the forest ground, howling out, "_Call for me. I'm coming. Don't leave me._" Each cry was answered with a bark and the wolf skidded past the laughing brook of tainted water, past the playing unicorns that stopped to watch it, past the centaurs, eyes locked to the sky. The phoenix let out a musical question and was answered, flying above the wolf towards the same source.

In the clearing of the forest, far away from the magical castle, a lion paced with white wings sprouting from its back. Its royal entourage sat around it, playing with each other, griffins one and all: head and wings of an eagle, body of a lion. They flew in the air, tussling and wrestling, pausing to cry out to the lonely wolf encouragement, to answer to the phoenix's song.

The single lion alone, king of the griffins, paced. A gryphon, full-bodied lion with wings, its day was not of play.

The lonely wolf pranced out of the woods, slowly entering the playing circle of griffins. They called to him, flying and diving in the air, inviting him to join them. It paused then played, the last of the arctic wolves, giant as a man but playful as a puppy.

The phoenix adopted a perch on a tree and sang out its deep-throated melody: (Why have you come?)

The griffins played on, ignoring the challenge. The gryphon stepped forward. (To sing, dance, and play.)

Newly reborn, the phoenix ruffled its feathers, the last of its birth fire falling to the ground, magically sparking but not spreading. (Now is not the time for play.)

(There is always time for play,) the gryphon argued lazily, stretching out its hind legs and flushing its wings to full span.

The phoenix song echoed through the forest as the phoenix king spread its long, golden feathers, a rainbow of color lighting the dark blue sky as it streaked upwards, flying higher than the clouds. The gryphon let out a roar of laughter and leaped after it, white wings catching up fast before the phoenix gave a burst a speed and led it on a chase around the moon.

The griffins cackled in laughter and took off after their king, royal entourage forming a tail to the mighty chase. The lonely wolf gave a howl of its own laughter, then called farewell to its friends before returning back to its lonely home, running free and fast on the ground, a continuous cry for friendship tearing at its throat.

*

"Welcome to your Divination test, Harry," Professor Trelawney murmured, sitting on a stack of pillows in the stuffy room. She watched him with her large eyes, as if she could take his soul apart with one look. "Your life has already been touched by this subject. I do not believe it will be difficult for you."

McGonagall snorted from her seat among the teachers watching the test, waiting for their own turn to test Harry on any particular subject. Outside, far and away, the lonely wolf of the forest cried out and Harry longed to leave everything to join it. His form was fast and unused, the building huge and contained. He wished to run again.

Already, he'd passed Charms as well as Astronomy, years one through four. The night was getting late but adrenaline pumped through Harry, vanquishing the sleepy foes of his conscience. Dumbledore was also there, judging whether or not Harry would be able to stay in his supposed year but, unlike the other eyes, his twinkling blue eyes added no stress no Harry, added no hidden mocking, pity, or grave calculation. The deep blues, peaceful hues, only gave Harry encouragement to do his best with the unspoken promise to be viewed with fairness and against no fallen expectation.

But, with the Divination professor sitting before him, watching him with her sharp eyes and wispy smells, Harry felt his stomach turn in a surprising feeling of anxiety. Of all the subjects, divination was the one he studied least, viewing it with the inherited contempt of his parents and also with hidden apprehensive, as though his mind knew that the study held ill tidings for him.

As if sensing his unease, Dumbledore watched Harry with a grave face. 'You can leave this,' his eyes seemed to say, silently repeating McGonagall's previous statement. 'Divination is an optional class and you do not have to be judged of it.'

'But I know about it,' Harry had replied to McGonagall. 'And I want to be sure that I can hold up to Hogwarts standards.' The professor rolled her eyes but called Trelawney down to the Transfiguration class, joining the rest of the necessary teachers.

Trelawney stirred a cup of tea and slid it across the table. "Drink, and tell me what you see."

Never really liking tea, Harry eyed the cup then closed his eyes and drank. The sour taste filled his throat, killing the senses on his tongue. As he drank, he could imagine the leaves, arranging themselves to suit the drinker, telling of futures hidden in soggy dips. He drank until the cup until only the dregs remained and Trelawney nodded in approval.

Placing the cup down, Harry swallowed, wishing to get the bitter taste from his mouth, before opening his startling green eyes again and focusing on the leaves before him. Only a pile of mush remained but, as Harry stared at it, the leaves began to form images, pictures that spoke to Harry without words.

"A cross," he murmured quietly but his voice seemed to echo, whispering across the room. "Hard times of course... a falcon, for my deadly enemy-"

"What enemy," Trelawney prodded.

Harry looked up, startled, and the emotion echoed itself in his eyes. "The Dark Lord," he answered simply. "The enemy of my brother is mine as well." He looked back down to the cup, repeating the images aloud but Trelawney gave a small start when she noticed that he no longer even had his eyes opened. Suspicious, she edged from her pillows and glanced into the cup over Harry's shoulder to find everything as he repeated them.

"The club, meaning an attack," Harry murmured. "The skull...danger..." He seemed to be drifting.

In his head, Harry felt spinning and turmoil. Images taken unseen from the cup instantly melted into meaning before being swept away. He felt as though he was falling, deeper and deeper into an empty space with no way out, trapped in his own mind-

With a shake of his head, Harry forced his eyes open, swallowing at the sudden thirst on his tongue. Would he be allowed a drink of water or did he need to finish this last test first?

Trelawney pulled the cup back and stirred it absently, going back to her pillows. "Very good," she congratulated. Then she held out her palm. "What do you see?"

Harry took her hand and absently traced his fingers down the natural tracks, feeling the curves and forms of her hand. He looked up. "This is your writing hand?" She nodded and he looked back down.

There was a strange sense of the unreal in that room, a strange sense of urgency as Harry let out a deep sigh. Every professor could feel it. Dumbledore watched with thoughtful eyes, eyes that belied a curiosity that now arose as he watched the young man whose power now filled the room, searching for something. Powerful was the wizard who could let his power form as a separate entity and Dumbledore suspected that, if Harry fully let go of his securities, his doubts, that his power would form as such. If the first brother was this powerful, how much more was the second son, whose life was prophesied?

"You have a long life line, but it's very weak," Harry finally stated in his quiet voice. He looked up and his eyes slanted in semi-confusion. "Weak, because you chose not to participate and because you wish to alienate yourself."

"Outside contact dulls the inner eye," the professor surmised, motioning for him to continue.

He looked down with the same absent look, as though he wasn't really looking anywhere. "You have few interests, devoting yourself fully to one thing at one time. Sickness has tried to claim your life many times and in the end, it will succeed to drag you down from your goals." He blinked in surprise and traced one deep line etched into her hand. "You have had many loves, but stay true to one and while ready and able to direct, to head, you prefer to let others take control."

She pulled her hand back with a small smile and, without a word, held out a small crystal ball.

Harry gazed into its foggy surface for many minutes and was about to pull away when something caught his attention. "I see... many people, gathered together."

"The school?" Trelawney prompted and Harry shook his head, never losing sight of the image that became clearer and cleared while at the same time fighting the urge to close his eyes.

"There's too many... wearing different colors..."

"The Tournament," Dumbledore spoke and the others nodded in agreement. Even McGonagall, disbeliever, felt like Harry spoke truth. "What else is there?" the headmaster asked, scooting forward.

He couldn't fight it anymore. Harry's head lulled forward and his eyes closed, shutting just as crystal tears gathered. "There is a lot of fear..." he murmured hypnotically. "Much fear..." His breathing became harder and the room seemed to vanish from his awareness, leaving him alone in the dark place that he feared so. It wanted to choke him and he fought against it, all the while seeing red lights in the distance, meshing with green sparks and inhumane screams. "So much fear..."

"Harry..." a far off voice sounded. "Come back, Harry..."

The darkness vanished and he saw again the many people, standing and watching, cheering and crying. He walked among them as a ghost, looking for what they saw but seeing nothing. Then he turned and saw. "There's a great field," he listed off unconsciously. He walked forward, stepping through the people in his way. "And the people are cheering. A contest is going on."

He looked around. "There are so many people."

"Harry..." the voice tried again. "Come back-"

"Someone's coming," Harry whispered, ducking behind a cheering witch. On the field appeared a shadow, overwhelming in its darkness. The crowd went silent save for Harry, mouth still whispering everything he saw. The shadow gave a roar and consumed everything and the crowd began to scream. The fear he sensed nearly knocked him from his feet.

Before the shadow stood another shadow, small but much darker, consuming little but enraging the greater one. As the greater shadow fought, it wasted away and vanished before the minor shadow, which grew, absorbing power from its fallen enemy.

The crowds cheered again but didn't seem to notice the remaining shadow, growing greater and stronger, strong enough to consume all and more that the other had. Darker, but contained within itself. It turned and looked to Harry, sending a bolt of pain through his being. He opened his mouth and screamed.

*

"Harry?" Dumbledore stood and came closer, reaching a hand out-

"Don't!" Trelawney smacked his hand away, ignoring the other professors' shouts. "You can't touch him. He's gone into a trace--has been trying to all evening." She looked over in small wonder towards to drifting child. "A true seer... touch him, and who know what will happen. You have to wait for him to return."

Meanwhile, Harry hadn't stopped his creeping whispers. Dejectedly, the other professors sat down and waited for the time being, watching with mounting suspicion as Harry whispered a description of a place he'd never been. Dumbledore studied the teen and returned to his seat as well.

Fear. It was etched on Harry's face and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. His scar seemed to shine and, not for the first time, Dumbledore wondered exactly what curse had so scarred the child. The story fed to the world made much sense, but a tug urged him to look deeper. Look he did, but no answers showed themselves.

"They're scared again," Harry shivered, dipping his face from sight but his heavy breathing seemed to struggle air to his lungs. "It's not supposed to happen this way-"

"Enough," McGonagall ordered. "I will not have you torment one of my students." Surprisingly, Snape looked like he felt the same. "What did you put in that tea."

"Nothing," Trelawney replied calmly. "It is the boy's own nature. If he hadn't fought it, he'd not be in this position."

Anymore argument was silenced when Harry shouted a pearl of real pain, and jerked back hard enough to send himself crashing to the floor. After his scream, he went silent but was shaking so bad that it looked like he was still stuck in his trance. Under his breath, so quiet it could barely be heard, he was chanting, "no, no, no, no, no."

And a single drop of blood forced its way from Harry's scar.

McGonagall jumped forward but was stopped by Trelawney, whose eyes were narrowed. Her beads and charms rattled with her sudden movement and her wand was being held out with a shaky hand. "Stop, I've already told you he can't be touched!"

McGonagall pounded against the invisible shield that stopped her as well as anyone else from reaching Harry--or Trelawney, for that matter. "Let us through-"

Harry moaned and slowly blinked his eyes open. With a trembling hand and before the waiting professors, he wiped his scar's bloody tear from his forehead, staring at it shakily. Then he looked up and faintly asked, "Can I have a bit of water?"

"What did you see?" Trelawney asked, forcing her question.

Harry looked down. "Shadows, consuming one another to the cheers of the people. Heroes turning into villains. The end of the tournament." He looked up, green eyes tortured. "I saw the tournament's results."

"And?"

He looked back down. "Not good for the people of earth."

*

Harry stumbled weakly to bed, wishing he hadn't turned down the offer for help. Wishing more, though, that he could take back his words and deny memory. The looks on the professors' faces didn't help Harry at all.

He climbed up the last of the stairs, collapsing before the picture of the Fat Lady and debating whether it really was worth all the effort to go inside. It was very comfy, where he sat now, and it wasn't like sleeping inside would be any better than sleeping out here because once he was asleep, his body wouldn't care a whit about how it slept. At least, not until the morning, and then there'd be hell to pay-

"I told you," Hermione's exasperated voice carried towards him. "He said he was being tested, to see if he knew everything we did."

"And when exactly did he tell you that?" Ron was asking her.

Hermione gave a sigh and Harry could see them walking towards him, carrying a stack of books. "At dinner. When I _asked_ him where he was going instead of just sitting there, stuffing my face while he left." She rolled here eyes. "Honestly, Ron, you can be so stupid at times."

Ron snorted. "I knew it!" he nearly shouted, voice full of mock outrage, to the empty (but for Harry) hallways. "I knew you couldn't go one day without calling me stupid, or ugly, or a big fat git-"

Hermione snickered into her hands but stopped short when she finally noticed Harry's limp form. "Harry!" she cried, dropping her books in surprise. "What are you doing out here?"

Harry pulled his head to the side. "Sleeping, or trying to."

"Sleeping? Out here in the middle of the blooming hallway?" Ron restated in incredulous terms. "And I thought you were supposed to be smart-"

"Come on," Hermione grabbed one of Harry's arms. "Let's get you up." Ron grabbed the other.

"But your books," Harry protested.

"Will be fine," Hermione reassured. She looked to the Fat Lady. "Marmalade!" The portrait swung open. They struggled inside, not only to help Harry up to his bed but to keep him from trying to do it himself.

"I'm fine," he argued, trying to get away. "Really. I can get there myself." But when Ron's grip slipped, the boy nearly crashed head first down onto the floor.

"Fine he says," Ron stated sarcastically, catching Harry in time. "Oh sure, we believe you Harry." Hermione glared over Harry's head and Ron's mouth went open in surprise. "What?"

"You're not helping."

"I am too! Look at me, holding his arm, dragging him upstairs--_carrying the most weight_, if I do add."

They finally got him into bed, nearly falling in with him, and Hermione, with a sigh, wrinkled her forehead. "What happened, Harry? Where the tests really all that bad?"

"Really, Hermione," Ron snorted, gesturing to Harry's limp form. "You ask if they're all that bad when we got stinking proof that there are. I'm glad that I've been here all the time and don't have to be tested on four bloody years of material at the same time."

Hermione burst out laughing at the look on his face but froze when movement came from the other beds. "Uh oh. I better go before someone catches me up here in the boys' dormitories."

"I'll come with you," Ron volunteered. "Besides, we need to pick up your books anyway."

Harry faked sleep when Hermione checked on him a last time, and when the pair finally left he exhaled loudly. All that, and this was only the first day. With a groan, he tossed himself into the pillows and closed his eyes.

__

"Come play with us," a deformed griffin urged him, deformed in the fact that its head was still that of a lion's. "Come on, there's always time to play."

He swatted it away. "No. I have to do homework." So the griffin took his papers and leaped away, jumping onto the clouds and going higher. Harry cried out and followed him but where the clouds held the griffin, he sunk into soft comfort, soft but slowly suffocating.

"Just need a little fire," a bird said, barely visible through the cloud's fog. It sat on the ground and twisted sticks of fire together. At last, a fire caught on and the bird eagerly jumped into it despite Harry's scream. It came out a phoenix but its tails were wrong. At the tip of each feather, a slow blackness was overriding the phoenix's golden color.

The gold eventually became complete black.

The phoenix sighed. "I need a better fire," it complained, turning into a miniature Sirius sitting over a pile of sticks too big for him to move but he tried anyway. "I need a better fire."

"Come play with us," the deformed griffin jumped onto Harry's head, claws scratching and drawing blood but even with the pain, Harry could tell that the griffin was pushing him out of the cloud's suffocation. "Come play. The red moon's out and the dark lord stirs, but time is still there for fun."

"Come play with us." Harry fell from the cloud and missed miniature Sirius's ground, falling into the blackness he dreaded. Falling into a dark hole where only the very top had light and he didn't have a ladder. He looked around and found one right next to his foot, too small for him to use but he climbed it anyway, shrinking down to fit it. The higher he climbed, the smaller he became until all that was left was a tiny spot and soon even that vanished.

He watched it all, watched his other self become smaller and smaller, then when the other self disappeared, Harry stepped on the small ladder, collapsing to the floor but happy no one else would disappear again. Red stained the sky, meshing with green sparks and inhumane screams.

"Come back to us," someone urged him but when Harry tried to stand, they laughed and shoved him back down. "No, you're not who we wanted." He was stuck in the small room while laughter filled the air, mocking laughter and slowly, he could feel himself shattering, breaking into a thousand little parts that he knew could never be put back together. The darkness drifted away and became a small shadow that turned to face him but Harry knew whose face he'd see and screamed.


	14. Chapter XIII

****

Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

__

You're only imagining

__

A mouse is in your hair.

You've got to stop imagining

That mice are everywhere.

I think you're just imagining

To give yourself a scare.

But trust me dear, I wouldn't lie:

There is no _mouse up there._

"Imagining," Shel Silverstein

****

Chapter XIII

Five years ago, he steamed. Five years ago was the time when his reign had come to an end, when his power had been broken, destroyed, when his hold over the magical world had come to ruin. Five years--and everything crashed down. He'd worked for his power for years and years, over a decade, picking through his ranks with a fine brush, kicking out those who were too coarse or too fine, destroying all boundaries that held him. At first, his rise to power had been the people's joy and he'd been showered with gifts and blessings.

But, after a frightening night when he showed no mercy, when he destroyed those who stood in his way, the people began to cower. And that feeling, that feeling of power that he felt when, walking into a room, the people would look away, turn away, run away, that power was exhilarating.

And the finger of a lad, just short of two years old destroyed it all.

Bartimus Crouch fumed, pacing through his office, kicking up dust of disuse. Ever since that Potter child had brought down the Dark Lord (a task his Aurors couldn't do) the Ministry had severally restricted Aurorian powers. No longer could criminals be executed without a jury, and when there was a trial, no longer could a membership of Aurors head it. The people, previously cowed by his very presence, took a stand against him, labeling the tactics they once praised as condemning as those of the Death Eaters.

Imagine! Comparing the Aurors to Death Eaters! How different could the two forces be? It was like looking at light and saying it was night--was, in fact, that very thing. Aurors even wore white robes, for crying out loud! There was no mistaking the two, just like there was no mistaking avenging angels when they stood next to quivering fiends.

Crouch turned and spat into his fireplace, angry as a hornet. Though the _celebration_ of the Dark Lord's fall had taken place months before, in June, some buffon had just now remembered to send the ex-Head Auror a letter, conniving and snide. It lay open on his table. On the front, a picture of Leonard Potter, the child responsible for the break of his powers, smiled shyly and inside was a printed greeting, corny and old:

__

Wishing you a happy year.

Aren't you glad the Dark Lord's not here!

And beneath that, the sender had the nerve to add his or her own scrawl, making the letter that much worse:

__

Crouch, I couldn't help thinking of you when I saw this card. How are you, anyhow? How is the retirement going? I heard that Minister Fudge was thinking of screwing you over as mental--worse than Mad-Eye. Don't let the Death Eaters get you.

And beneath that, in a very bad result of lead against paper, was the smeared yet recognizable Dark Mark.

Crouch snarled as he saw it again, saw the laughing threat sent against him. He'd ask for a trace on the card, but the owl that delivered it was just a simple sparrow enchanted for a short time to send a message. It was now too stupid to be used in a trace. Typical Death Eater move.

He glared at the picture of Leonard but was surprised when, as Leonard grew frightened, he was removed and his brother, the silent Harold Potter, stood in his place, glaring right back. Most pictures used magic to bar Harry from showing his face on the pictures. Intrigued, Crouch picked up the card and studied the new boy before him, realizing that he knew next to nothing on the child.

"Vicky, I'm going out," he called to his wife.

The small woman looked up, startled, as he shoved on a coat, rushing through the house. "But Bartimus-"

"When Barty gets home, tell him he better have a good excuse," he roughly shoved aside her questions and left. His son was getting more and more irresponsible, coming home only on weekends, getting to the point where Crouch was willing to just kick the boy out. It was about time, the boy was too babied by his mother anyhow.

He apparated. Retired or not, he still held some weight around the Ministry and when he saw the picture of Harry, something clicked. The boy sparked some suspicion and Crouch was going to do everything he could to find out everything about the boy. If anything, perhaps he'd find a way to bring Leonard Potter's good reputation down once and for all. What kind of idiot would believe a year-old child truly responsible for the downfall of the Dark Lord?

*

"Let's see you on a broom," Madam Hooch gruffly ordered, holding out a standard school broom. Its wooden stick looked weathered and splintered--not a comfortable ride. Harry felt a jolt of revolution just looking at the wobbly thing and the madam frowned slightly. "What? Is this not up to your standards? Well, I'm sorry Mr. Potter but you'll have to make due like the rest of us."

"Are you sure I can't just use my own broom?" Harry asked, eyeing the disgusting broom and now making no moves to hide his disdain for such a broken-down device.

Madam Hooch shook her head again, one hand going to rest on her hip as she shook the other at him. "If you used another broom, I wouldn't be able to tell how much of your skill was your own and how much came from the broom." She thrust the broom at him. "Now mount up."

Slightly annoyed, Harry took the broom and sat down, letting his legs tighten around its handle to leave his hands free, and he rose in the air shakily. The old broom really was falling apart. Surely Hogwarts, in all its glory, could afford better for its students.

It was about this time he noticed Madam Hooch trying her best not to smile.

Coming up one of the lanes, the Gryffindor class was heading towards their Care of Magical Creatures class and Ron stepped from the crowd, grinning madly. "Harry, what are you doing on that old thing?" he asked, coming closer.

"If you don't mind," Hooch answered firmly, but this time Harry could definitely tell she was trying not to smile, "we're in the middle of a flying test."

"On that old broom?" Ron shot back hesitantly, looking back and forth between her and the broom. "But I thought those brooms were being destroyed, seeing as how old they are."

"Hey!" Harry called out from his wobbly position in the air. "You told me this was a school broom!"

"Well it is, technically," Madam Hooch replied, smiling now. She motioned to Harry. "You can come down now. I say you definitely pass. That broom's older than even me, and if you can still fly with it you show some promising skills." She eyed him as if measuring said skill and added, "Why don't you come and see me later? I'd like to play a quick two-player game of Quidditch to see just how good you are. I've heard your brother plays Quidditch with the best of them."

"Er..."

Madam Hooch's eyes began to glitter as if amazed at even playing with the brother of such a legendary boy, and Ron quickly pulled on Harry's arm to join the class. "Come on, let's go Harry. Hagrid's not going to be too happy with us being late, especially when we're with the Slytherins."

They left Madam Hooch as she smilingly directed the old broomstick towards the Whomping Willow.

"I thought you took your tests at night?" Ron half-asked, half-accused.

"I do... but I can't test flying at night."

"So you take your tests during lunch now?" Ron shook his head just as they reached the rest of the class. "Blimey Harry, take a rest now and then." To which Harry firmly responded with tense silence.

His classes hadn't been as easy as he'd thought they'd be, for Hogwarts had certainly changed its curriculum like Professor McGonagall had warned. In his fifth year of Transfiguration, he'd found himself floundering for the techniques the other fifth years were learning, techniques that his mum's teachings had already passed. While the rest of the class was struggling to take on the awesome task of transfiguring a small toy doll into a live monkey with a procedure of spells they'd just learned, Harry was trying to ignore his urge to simply transfigure the doll with one single spell, trying not to get on McGonagall's bad side by doing the class too easily. It wasn't working because either way, she still seemed fixed on the idea that Harry was unduly rude and completely conceited.

It hadn't helped that professors and students alike would come up to him at all times asking about his brother. 

"Hey," Ron whispered as Hagrid started to lead the class around towards the back of his cabin where supposedly wonderful creatures were being held, "you wanna race?"

"What?"

"On Saturday. Hooch just said you were quick on a broom. Let's race."

"Now this 'ere is what's known as a bitin' lizard," Hagrid's voice yelled out to the students. Draco, with his gang of Slytherins, was softly insulting the giant man and Hagrid's ears were slowly turning red, though he tried to ignore the Slytherin taunts. Hermione was watching, fascinated as one of the huge lizards in the cage turned to her and flicked its tongue out, catching a bug only inches away from her nose. She leaped back, startled, and barely caught on to the conversation between Ron and Harry.

"Racing?" she whispered, eyes narrowing slightly. "You know it's not allowed-"

"Yea, yea," Ron shushed her, turning to Harry for his answer.

Harry only paused a second, dimly realizing that he'd like to fly (but at home, with his brother there and safe) and nodded his head. "All right, sure."

*

"Headmaster, are you sure this is necessary?" Severus asked, eyes narrowed as he wove his way through the dark halls of the Hogwarts basement. Something stuck to his face and with disgust, he peeled the spider web off, taking a dark revenge in squishing the guilty spider between his fingers. Realizing what he'd done, Severus shivered. Some habits, such as taking pleasure in pain, would never fade, not after all his years spent in Voldemort's service.

"Quite," came the dusty reply and Severus hurried to catch up. "In fact, it's overdue."

They pulled to a stop in the middle of a hall, stepping past the great spider webs and occasional giant spider scuttling in the dark shadows. The only light had previously come from their glowing wand tips, but now that magical light was unnecessary as a powerful magical device lit up the entire area.

The Mirror of Erised looked as beautiful as the first day it had been brought to Hogwarts.

Severus swallowed thickly, throwing his eyes to the floor. He knew what he wanted already, knew what he wanted all too well. Something so unattainable that it would be simply madness to try and look at the mirror now, knowing its trap. What he desired most he could never have. Still, his eyes slowly drifted up on their own free will, slowly, slowly, reaching the bottom of the mirror and coming up-

"Over here, if you would," Dumbledore interrupted the slow torture and Severus blinked, shaking his head in amazement. It never failed to capture him, even when he knew all the dangers he always fell to it. He swallowed again and tore his gaze to the headmaster who sat on a dusty bow, holding a certain old book in his hands.

Just as he opened his mouth, Dumbledore smiled. "Now, don't try to warn me out of this again, Severus," the old man joked, but there was a firmness to his voice. "I've spent the last hour listening to your reasons but I'm still going to do this."

"Fine," Severus replied shortly, sitting himself on another box and hating himself for the way his eyes would skirt about the area and always drift back towards the mirror.

"It's all a bit of good luck I've got this," Dumbledore muttered to himself, staring sadly at the book. He turned the pages, not at all disturbed by the fact that every page was empty. "Good luck and a certain house elf."

"Is that creature still here at Hogwarts?" Severus asked, remembering the night when the Malfoy house elf had fled to Hogwarts, bloody and beaten by its own hand as it confessed a plot its master had hatched. Severus wanted to sneer at the elf, wanted to mock its unquestioning loyalty to such a cruel man, but every time he looked at it he only saw himself the night he'd confessed to Dumbledore, confessed to being a Death Eater, and feeling horribly dirty as if speaking against his master was something wrong. Even now, years and years after he'd turned from Voldemort, there was a feeling of bondage as if the dead Dark Lord still held him. The elf had a magical excuse for such loyalty, but he had nothing.

Dumbledore shook his head, looking very old. "No," he murmured, "no, his wounds were too great." His eyes crinkled as if a sudden weight was placed on him. "He didn't live much longer, not even under Poppy's care."

It was just a house elf, Severus wanted to scream at the wounded headmaster, but his throat dried and his voice choked and he remained silent. After a moment, Dumbledore seemed to gather himself and hid the wound of death where he hid all other wounds before moving on with life. "Well," he whispered as he opened the book to a page, "there's no time to waste."

The page was deceptively empty, but both wizards knew better than to believe appearances. With a grim face, Dumbledore pulled from his pockets a feathered quill and began to write:

__

Tom Marvelo Riddle, this is Professor Dumbledore.

Nothing happened as the words faded, ink drying and evaporating at an incredible speed. But finally a few words appeared, curling on to the page.

__

~ Professor, how good it is to hear from you. ~

This is no time for games, Tom.

~ I wouldn't think so either. What brings you to try and invade my privacy? ~

Dumbledore paused, looking at the diary in his hands and seeing the fifteen year old boy who'd written it, the genius who'd later go on to cause so much harm. What wouldn't he do to go back in time and just talk with Tom again, talk with the boy before he turned, try and prevent fate from happening.

__

Many years have passed since you wrote this diary, and I'd imagine that you would like to know what's happened, the headmaster wrote, choosing his words carefully. _There is now a man, a dark wizard, by the name of Lord Voldemort who proclaims himself master of the world. Already, he has taken over countless cities and his armies are almost great enough to strike at Hogwarts._

~ Lord Voldemort? Strange name. What is it that you want me to do? ~

"Oh Tom," Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head. _There is nothing you can do, and I'm sorry to even write but I feel as if someone should know when Hogwarts falls._

~ So even the great Hogwarts will fall before the power of this Lord Voldemort? ~ As the words appeared, Dumbledore could feel the diary attach itself to his power, feel it try to suck the life from what it saw as a helpless old man. His body stiffened but he allowed the diary to drain him slightly before pulling away, letting the diary think him too weak to stop it immediately. _~ Few people would ever believe such a thing could happen. ~_

Many things have happened now that few would believe. So many have died, and even you have gone missing Tom. It was a great blow to our side.

~ Old fool, ~ the diary seemed to cackle, _~ don't you even know who Lord Voldemort is? ~_

He is a dark wizard who appeared just over a year ago, but no, no one yet knows his true name.

~ It is I! Me, in all my meddling years at Hogwarts. It seems as though I've finally passed you. ~

You, Tom? But no, you've never turned against-

~ Save it. In a few hours, Hogwarts will be overrun by the Slytherin heir and you will be forced down, will be forced to recognize the greatness of Salazar. ~

Never. I'll never surrender.

~ I know, old fool. I'm counting on that stubbornness. Soon, Hogwarts will have fallen and then the world will fall with it. Lord Voldemort will rise again. ~

You'll not get the chance, Tom. Even if I die, I'll stop you.

~ Stop me? You? Impossible. Even if you were to destroy my physical body, my essence would live on. Years would pass and just as the world relaxed my body will be remade. If you destroy my body, I'll return just as the world thinks peace and I'll come back fiercer than ever. ~

"You have always talked too much when you think you're winning, Tom," Dumbledore chided the diary, face heavy with worry. He turned to Severus and handed him the diary. "I've found out what I needed," he said. "Burn it."

*

Rumors flew: Harry knew things no student should know, he was advanced in the dark arts, he could out-potion the Slytherins, and Snape favored him though he was Gryffindor. They said he was dangerous; they said he was nice. Some whispered of confrontations with the boy, though he'd only been at school a week, confrontations that ended with bloodshed and dark magic. Some countered those conversations with other meetings with Harry, when he'd gladly helped them when they had a problem or when they felt down.

Strange, how after only being in school a week, Harry received fame from the students equivalent to that given to his brother.

Harry, for his part, ignored dark accusation as easily as light admiration, going to his classes with his housemates during the day and taking grueling tests late into the night. None were as draining as that first night, but all showed that Harry was as advanced, if not certainly more so, as them in his year. There was speculation that his brother had twice the power that Harry held, that Harry was drawing on Leo's power to help him through. Some professors looked forward to teaching the younger Potter while others dreaded it, already feeling insecure of teaching Harry, fearing that he would already know their lessons.

Trelawney developed an eerie, downright uncanny relationship with Harry and could be caught coming down during meals--an unprecedented experience--to whisper words of advice. Harry took it all in stride, accepting her words but declining late-night studies in divination, thanking her for her concern but denying any more prophetic happenings. When she predicted that his dreams would be plagued until he confronted his skill, he nearly froze at the dinner table, a sign to everyone that she'd struck a cord deep within him.

The three other houses also developed a relationship with Harry: he refused any attempts at friendship while retaining a courteous stance, and they learned to leave him alone. Slytherins would challenge him but with only a week of school in session, they had yet to snag him with anything other than that single event in Potions.

Which brought perhaps the strangest turn of events: Professor Snape being polite, if not gruffly friendly, with a Gryffindor! What next? McGonagall smiling and singing a song as she skipped down the hall arm in arm with Hagrid? The idea was insane but then again, Snape truly was being easy on Harry. Some hinted that Snape was, in fact, a long-lost uncle of the boy and was trying to make up forgotten years apart. Others claimed that Harry had somehow saved Snape's life or something along those lines, and Snape owed him a life-debt. Whatever the case, it seemed that Snape's benevolence stretched only to the single Gryffindor for no one else experienced a change in the Potions Master's attitude.

Between the nightly tests and daily classes, Harry still found time to disappear, only to reappear time later with no explanation other than he'd been out. He also seemed to have a fondness, for lack of better word, for the younger years. Hermione attributed this to his taking care of Leo, saying that it was in his system to take care of those weaker than him. From Jessica Adams, who still remembered him smiling at her during the Sorting Ceremony, to a third year by the name Michael Stevens, Harry had yet to refuse their pleas of help. When they found that his only free time was either between his last class and dinner, or late night after his testing, they crowded around him for the time before dinner or fell asleep waiting for him to return at night. No student had yet to stay awake long enough to see him back to his classes, save for the eternally wandering Ron and Hermione who often strolled along the lake or to the library, her prefect status protecting them against the usual punishments.

When Harry passed his tests, it was Friday night and he was found yet again by Ron and Hermione crouched against the Fat Lady's portrait, too weary to enter of his own free will. They gently picked him up, making no comments because the Tuesday morning had found him back to being polite but distant because of their help. It was only through sheer will alone that Hermione held his friendship, fragile it was. Harry probably didn't notice, too tired from the week's torture to care that he was showing his weakness.

They struggled again to bring him up the stairs, dropping him in bed, and Ron was just whispering goodbye to Hermione when they heard Harry whimper.

"Harry?" Hermione crept up to the bed, laying a hand against her new and mysterious friend's forehead. His skin was clammy to the touch but his scar seemed to burn. She hissed in pain and jerked her hand back.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked, too loudly because the room's other sleepers awoke, dreamily sticking their heads beyond the bed's curtains.

"Ron?" Seamus asked, newly awakened and unsure whether he was truly awake or merely dreaming. His eyes widened and he hissed out, "Hermione! What are you doing in here?" Neville opened his curtains as well, floppily getting to a sitting position to watch the show. Dean rubbed his eyes and yawned, half-awake but getting dragged back to sleep. He managed to open his curtains and lean against his bed frame, eyes opening, closing, and slowly opening again.

Hermione looked to answer but was cut off when Harry rolled over in his sleep, letting out another muffled moan. Soft it was, the others had gotten used to Harry's quietness and heard it.

"Something wrong with Harry?" Neville asked, stumbling in his words from sleepiness.

Ron glanced nervously between Hermione and Harry, who was becoming pale beneath his sun-ripened tan. "Think we should get Pomfrey?" he asked when Harry began to sweat, tossing again.

Hermione pressed her lips together and weighed the options in her head. "It couldn't hurt," she remarked and headed out to get said nurse. Just as she was opening the door from the circular room, it opened for her.

Standing outside the door was half of Gryffindor. They gawked at her, coming from the boys' dormitories and she blushed under their stares.

Harry tossed again and cried out, sounding like he was in pain, distracting them and reapplying Hermione to her mission. She pushed past her housemates and made for the door, looking back and calling, "Ginny, come with me!" The redhead girl took a look at the tempest-tossed Harry and nodded, wrapping her robes around her and following the fifth year prefect.

"What's with Harry?" someone asked, pressing her nose forward.

"How'd you all wake up?" Ron demanded, glaring at the Gryffindors, all of whom were under his year.

"Heard something," one boy admitted, twisting his fingers. "And woke them up to see what it was."

"You heard something?" Seamus, now fully awake, repeated suspiciously. "How? Our rooms are far enough away from yours to be soundproof."

"Not a noise," the boy replied, annoyed. "Just... something."

Before Seamus could challenge them further, several other Gryffindors piped out, "I heard it too!" but refused to say exactly what they heard, giving the older years the belief that the younger years had been caught during an attempted prank and were now trying to cover up their deeds. The only thing in common with all of them was that they were the students Harry had helped, despite his weariness. They quieted down but stared with wide-eyed dread when Harry cried out again, in definite pain this time. A quick glance at the time showed it past one.

"Well, this is cozy, " Seamus stated sarcastically as he was forced from his bed by three younger Gryffindors, all tired but unwilling to just leave Harry alone. "Get off--come on now--this is my---ah, forget it." He swatted the air angrily and got up from his bed, stifling a yawn.

"Can't we do anything?" Neville asked mildly.

Ron shot him a look. "What exactly do you think I should do?" the redhead demanded, gesturing wildly in the air much to the complaint of the other students he nearly hit. Their rooms were quickly being filled.

Dean stood up determinedly. "Listen," he called out. "None of you are helping. Hermione's already gone for Madam Pomfrey, and _she'll_ take care of everything when she gets here. Why don't all of you go back to bed."

His words were met with a rebellious silence until one student cried out, "No!" and the others followed, shaking their heads and glaring at the presuming fifth year.

Dean rolled his eyes and gave up with a shrug of his shoulders, shooting the other fifth years a look as though to say, 'I tried.'

"How about this: everyone goes down to the common rooms to wait for Hermione to get back," Neville suggested with that same mild tone. "It's too crowded in here and, for all we know, the heat's irritating Harry."

"That's a good idea," Ron agreed, more to get everyone out of the room then anything. "So-"

"Why don't you put something on his face," one of the girls, a muggle-born, started. "When I'm sick, that's what my mum does." Her suggestion was met with more nods and cries of agreement than Neville's.

"How about this," Seamus began again. "We all leave except for one person-"

"Me," Ron said determinedly.

"Right then; we all leave except Ron, and he'll stay here and put whatever on Harry's face." The younger students looked unconvinced that Seamus's plan would do much good but dutifully filed from the room, casting the now-silent Harry concerned looks.

"We'll... we'll get the water for you," a second year declared, determined to be of help as he paused down in the common rooms.

"And I've got a rag-"

"Let me help-" A clamor arose as the students began shouting out suggestions.

Neville shook his head in dismay and Dean, not wasting any time, cast a silencing charm on the noisy group. "Listen, you all can't just go and-"

"Actually, it's a good idea," Ron interrupted, having started down into the room behind them. He wiped at his head. "I don't know, maybe a sort of ring or line, so if I need anything I could just holler and someone can get it for me." His friends looked as though they thought him mad for wanting to involved himself with the younger years willingly, but the others looks excited.

"I'll get that water," the second year started proudly, tooting off towards the bathrooms.

*

"Where's Hermione," Ron muttered, fifteen minutes later, reduced to wiping the sweat from Harry's face with a blanket from his own bed. He looked up. "More water, please."

"Coming up," Dean replied, repeating the request down towards the common room. A first year came running up, carrying with her a glass of cool water, and Ron tried again to put a cold rag against Harry's forehead to stop the fever, as he was sure it was.

"Hermione's back!" Seamus, in the common room, called up and Dean repeated the message to Ron's relieved ears. "Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall's with her."

"Let me through, let me through," Pomfrey shoved through the sea of young Gryffindors and briskly stepped up to Harry's bed, examining her patient. "Weariness," she muttered to herself. "I told them one week was too short for any student but they insisted..."

When she noticed students still watching her, students that had begun filling up the room much like before, she rudely shoved them out, chiding them on wasting her time and locking the door behind her.

*

"What is it, Poppy?"

"Sickness. From stress or weariness, as far as I can tell."

The voices were strangely twisted to Harry's hearing. He was floating in a watery paradise and above him, above the water's surface, he could hear giant faces peering down at him. Harry tried to twist away, tried to move somehow, but he stayed floating with no control over himself.

"Probably from all the tests."

"I warned you. It's too much for any boy, regardless of his family."

"Perhaps we could-"

"What he needs is rest. A good night's rest and a day without stress." Someone touched him and, violated though he felt, Harry could do nothing about it. "There's something else, too, headmaster. This scar... I've never seen anything like it. When I started to heal the boy, I barely touched it and..."

"And?"

A heavy sigh. "I don't know exactly. There's enough dark magic stuck in there to bring the Ministry down on us if they knew. All that dark magic is why it won't heal properly. What seems to be happening is that whenever the boy's under a very stressful situation, the dark magic is able to leak into him, causing him grave harm. There's no way to stop it."

Dumbledore, standing in the hospital wing and above the limp boy lying in a hospital bed, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps I could shield it, somehow. Stop the leaks."

Pomfrey shot him a shrewd look. "Are you saying you know a spell-"

"Not exactly," he replied delicately, knowing that both of them already knew that such a spell, a spell to counter or leak out the dark magic, would either be illegal or not in existence. Much of the permanent damage most war veterans faced was the result of a wound festering with dark magic, leaking just as this scar did. They would be forced under observation, then forced to stay relaxed, then forced to take medications and treatments--yet return from it all with the same wound, the same problem, forced to acknowledge that should their condition be worsened, the wound and the limb it was imposed on would be removed. Amputation was the only cure against such infection. "It won't be permanent, and will probably weaken--if I had been able to perform the spell when he was a child, the effects would stay longer than when I do it now. However, it seems to be the only choice we have."

"Any ideas on what caused that scar, Albus?" McGonagall asked, watching the young teen lying prone on the hospitable bed guiltily but also with a sense of fascination; the scar wound was the first of its kind. The only other patients with wounds holding similar properties only survived because of the distance between the wound (and the dark magic bomb) and the body's major organs, like the heart, the lungs... the brain. For them, their wounds festered on their legs, their arms, places that, as the aggravation grew, were forced to be amputated least the dark magic sore spread throughout the rest of the body. Here, Potter was surviving despite what could only be imagined as a continuous downpour of dark magic straight into his mind. "And what kind of spell can you use to disconnect it, however temporarily, from the boy?"

"It's a form of the griffins' magic," Dumbledore answered her second question, not knowing really how to answer the first. "Griffins, you see, have the unique ability to dislodge a person's soul from their body. Not death, of course, but as close to death one can go without actually dying." He took out his wand and turned it over in his old fingers. "It's a deep magic they do only in times of necessity, when the soul gets in the way of a body's healing. Very dangerous but sometimes essential."

And highly illegal, were the words ringing in the air.

Any magic taking on or imitating a magical creature's ability was kept highly regulated, especially if the animal in question was extremely powerful or extremely dangerous. Griffins, in this case, were considered both with their chaotic behavior codes and disorderly conducts, totally unpredictable when being handled.

He waved his wand, willing his words to sound out his need. The room hummed and a light escaped from the wand's tip, shooting out to encircle Harry's head for a moment before getting sucked into the skin. The scar, shaped like a bolt of lightening, began to glow with unseen electricity. 

It glowed for nearly a minute, Dumbledore murmuring words of a spell, and a sharp cry of a griffin echoed in the room before all lights were extinguished.

McGonagall withdrew her own wand and relit the candles, anxiously checking to the headmaster but he was standing, steady as always, checking over Harry with a sense of self-pride. The spell, highly illegal, was also highly risky, even for him. And everyone there knew it. She swallowed at the more relaxed look on Potter's face and urged herself to relax as well, all the while knowing that she couldn't, not while this student still held his mysteries against her.

"That should do," Dumbledore announced, sweeping Harry's bangs back onto his face and looking totally unconcerned about the questions the night raised. Then the headmaster let out a little sigh, echo of the magical draining the spell did to him, and smiled lightly. "I'd say that's all we're needed for. Come, Minerva, or Poppy will be kicking you out next."

The nurse looked over Harry one last time and dimmed the candles, heading herself to bed, shaking her head in confusion mixed with dismal at the behavior of the students under her care, the professors of the school, and the headmaster who seemed to run everything by doing the unimaginable.

*

The weekend passed with little excitement, save for a rumor going around that Harry Potter had died Friday evening, but when he showed up at Saturday's breakfast, even that excitement left. Left, leaving behind only a tenseness that the upcoming trip to France set over the castle.

Harry awoke on Saturday, no memory to him of the night's dreams or his friends' care, but he thanked them well enough, assuring him that his health was of the country's best. 'Gryffindors stick together' came the new motto, but the older years laughed and reminded the younger that they'd slept through the night without the slightest trouble.

All in all, Harry's night was forgotten fifteen minutes after he proved himself fit, which was fine with him. At least, most people forgot about it.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Hermione asked for the seventh time after breakfast and before lunch as Harry tried yet again to ditch them by walking out towards the Quidditch fields, hands on his broom--the latest and greatest on the market. The Swift Blaze, released only that year, just a few months ago. He doubted, by the expression of confusion on Ron's face, that the other Gryffindor even realized the potential Harry's broom held.

"I'm fine," Harry answered, trying to keep his voice from becoming annoyed. Hermione looked troubled and unconvinced but Ron smiled.

"Good," the redhead challenged. "Cause I can't wait to race you."

"Only because you insisted," Harry pointed out. "We can always call this off." He didn't want to race on unfair terms, and with his broom against the other's, the race was unfair indeed.

Hermione nodded. "That's right, Ron. Why can't you just fly nicely for a change?"

"Because it's fun to race," Ron replied heartily. "And I need to try out my new broom." He held out his Firebolt with an admiring eye. "I can't imagine how long Charlie's saved for it. A _Firebolt_!" He sighed dreamily.

They reached the Quidditch field and, on Hermione's reluctant mark, rose in the air. "Don't get yourselves killed," she warned them.

"Just say go already," Ron shouted back, high in the air.

Hermione tossed her head, no doubt calling him a few choice words down below, and shouted out, "GO!"

They were off. Ron's broom zipped into the sky, responding to his slightest touch as he headed towards the other side of the fields. Harry was right behind him, leaning forward to increase his speed. The two were neck and neck, zooming through the air. Harry dipped low to the ground, so fast that the grass shook and waved in his passing, sliding to the side before he even came as the air forced before him created a wave of tension.

Ron let go for a moment to laugh at the darker boy's tactics but kept higher in the sky where the air was thinner and more flexible.

The Gryffindor Seeker of four years raced against the newest student and was winning.

Harry sucked in a breath through his teeth and reminded himself that Ron wasn't Leo, that if Ron didn't win, he wouldn't get mad. Then he pushed forward, releasing the self-made barriers to his speed. He shot off like a bullet.

"Wow," Ron called out, seeing Harry gaining speed and disappearing in the distance. A grin graced his features and he laughed aloud, slowing down tremendously and stopping just to watch Harry go.

Harry passed the fields' ends but didn't stop. The speed was a rush for him, the highest high. With four legs on the forest floor, he could never go this fast. His broom rose in the air and freed him from the pressure of gravity. He passed beyond the fields to zoom across the lake and Harry actually laughed before diving down at the thought of an idea, barely made in his mind before tested out. His broom skimmed the surface of the water and the water rose like the biblical Red Sea as Harry whipped by, crashing down and tiding over onto the shore, dousing nearby students who barely caught sight of him before he was gone again.

He turned west, towards the tree tops of the Forbidden Forest, and cast away all doubt as he zoomed towards it, turning at the last second and heading back to the school still at his neck-breaking speed. The winds were like cold slivers of teeth, biting and trying to hold onto his bare arms before sliding off. His hair tossed in his face.

But he felt free.

"Look at him go!" Ron laughed, shielding his face from the sun with one hand as his eyes trailed the sky after the flying Gryffindor. "Blimey, and here I thought I could beat him."

Harry whipped over their heads, probably too fast for him to take notice of them or the group of gathering students, watching him fly across the sky.

"Imagine him in a Quidditch game," Dean said in an awed voice. "I'm glad he's in our House. I'd hate to think him playing against us." Several Ravenclaws seemed to have realized that, with this little demonstration, Harry _would_ be on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And they paled.

Harry slowed down, floating high above the scene below him and peacefully unaware of it, just floating in the air and breathing in clean sky, not even aware that, at his current height, he'd fall with nothing to stop him.

__

"Aren't you scared you'll fall?" An old conversation, years back with misgiving friendships, bobbed in Harry's memory, stinging with a suddenness that nearly unruffled the Gryffindor.

__

"No," his nine-year old self, a month away from being ten, had answered to the question.

__

"No one will catch you."

"I know."

Harry felt a stir of sickness as he remembered just how easily he was deceived. He may have been only a child at that age, but still...

"You going to stay up there forever?" Ron yelled up to him, startling him.

"Woah," Harry grabbed his broom and looked down, letting gravity pull him like a victim to the binding ground.

"Never knew you flew _that_ well," Ron was saying, clapping him on the back in a gesture that nearly sent Harry coughing. "Should've told me before you challenged me to a race."

"Harry, you flew fantastically," Hermione exclaimed. She looked a little flustered. "I normally never even pay attention to flying... stupid sport, so easy to get yourself hurt-"

"You'll have to talk with Katie," Seamus called for his attention. "She's the captain this year. When she sees you fly, she'll kick Ron out of the spot. Course, he's a decent Keeper when he puts his mind to it, so he'll get put back in as Keeper. But Merlin _knows_ we need a decent Seeker!"

"Hey!" Ron heard the comment. "I'm a pretty decent Seeker."

"Only when it's raining," came the sarcastic reply as Seamus hurried off.

*

Sunday morning arrived with no spectacular entrance: no angel fell down to sing praises to the rising sun; no dragons lay slain by the dripping rays of light; no house elf became free at the start of the day; no rose bloomed into an existence sparked by the morning's beginning. Birds stayed snug in their nest, no thought of tweeting morning welcomes occurring in their small brains.

In short, the day began with its simplicity almost overruling everything else. There was no fantastical beginnings to that day, no reason to suspect that, as the sun rose, it pulled with it a havoc so great the Professor McGonagall, by the end of the day, wished it had never come.

But then again, Sunday was the day that Hogwarts would all travel to France, so perhaps no spectacular entrances were needed. The day would be spectacular enough.

"Get up!" McGonagall shouted for the tenth time, walking through the Gryffindor common rooms, her voice bellowing up the stairs to the different dormitories. For her effort, grumpy moans echoed back down and reluctantly slow steps as students hobbled from their beds, looking to kill. "If you do not get up now, you'll get left behind!" The threat rang empty in the students' sleepy ears and, if anything, only made them move slower.

Throwing her hands in the air, McGonagall left her students to their own devices, swearing not to concern herself with their slowness, with their foolish slowness. They'd regret it later, she steamed to herself, they'd wish that they'd started sooner when they realized that half their things had been forgotten. They'd wish that they'd listened to her. Still, her eyes, almost of their own will, traveled to the cat clock on the wall. It was magicked to act just like any regular cat, much to McGonagall's personal amusement, and right now was licking its paws, obscuring vision to the clock on its belly.

"Nearly six," she muttered to herself and the cat meowed. With a smooth gesture, she lifted the cat-clock and stroked its soft fur, hardly able to suppress a smile when it began to purr. "Silly thing, I'll only be gone a week." It mewed again, butting its furry head into McGonagall's palm, into her arm.

"Minerva," a voice attracted her attention and almost guiltily, McGonagall turned to see Dumbledore's smiling face, waiting patiently for her in her fireplace. "I trust you've had a good sleep."

"As good as ever," she replied crisply.

Dumbledore smiled, looking more to her like a grandfather than the world's strongest wizard. "Are you students up?" She nodded. "The train's arrived. I've taken the opportunity to provide beds, as it is rather early."

"No earlier than when I usually wake," McGonagall pointed out.

"But the children need their sleep." He looked away for a moment, looking at his office for something, and looked back. "The trip lasts all day-"

"And I shudder to think of what our students will behave like," McGonagall interrupted, truly shuddering. "All day in a train? The ride to Hogwarts is almost too long to contain them."

"You act like Severus in the morning," Dumbledore smiled gently, almost scolding, and added, "You can begin bringing your students down at any time. I've just received word that the conductor's waiting."

*

"How," yawn, "exactly are we getting to Hogwarts?" Ron yawned again, sleepily, clutching at his wide-open mouth to prevent anyone else from smelling the foul breath a night's sleep had doused him with. Hermione had politely informed him earlier that if his breath was any bit worse, no dog would be safe and he'd taken the statement to heart. Harry, beside him, shrugged but Hermione's eyes glowed, a sign that she knew the answer.

"By train, silly," she reproved gently, one of the few actually awake enough to put her brain to work. "The Hogwarts Express, in fact. I really don't know how, but the train has something to do with it. Look."

She pointed and sure enough, the train sat steaming in its tracks, a sight students didn't expect to see until the end of the year. The train represented two diverse things: slavery, as it dragged them down, back to the halls of Hogwarts where their very existence would be judged and they would spend their years trying to be found worthy. And freedom, as it stole them away from the castle's walls, chugging at a speed almost too fast for some, breaking their chains and releasing them into a life of summer. That was it. Seeing it in between its two destined times (the start and end of school) was unnerving.

"Then why do we have to get up so early?" Ron complained, a whine entering his voice.

Hermione rolled her eyes and snorted soft. "Honestly Ron. Can't you figure it out on your own?" He shook his head dumbly, too sleepy to come back at her. "Then let me show you: if it takes half the day to get from London, at the bottom of England, to Hogwarts, in north Scotland, how long will it take for the train to go all the way from Hogwarts to France?"

"Hours," Harry answered when Ron's face didn't seem to compute with the question. "Probably all day." Hermione nodded approvingly.

"Let's go, students, let's go," McGonagall appeared, almost shoving the students down the way. "Miss Granger, could you work with your Gryffindors?"

Hermione blushed and nodded fingering her prefect's badge with an almost new appeal. "Of course." She looked to Ron and Harry. "I'll see you inside. Save me a seat."

"Come on," Harry directed, gently pulling Ron up to the train, avoiding the stark-faced Slytherins and the sleepy-eyed Hufflepuffs, pulling back from the loudly lecturing Ravenclaws and finally getting into the train. Inside, the Express looked nothing like it once had. As Harry pulled Ron down, looking for an empty compartment, his eyes caught onto the change: where there had once been nice bench-like seats in each little room, there was now double-facing bunk beds, one on each side.

"Here," and he pulled into an empty compartment. Ron yawned again, walking forward to smack his head against one bed frame. "No," Harry pulled Ron back. "Look, there's a bed there."

"Mmm." Ron yawned and looked through squinted eyes. "A bed?" He felt his way forward and a tired smile worked its way on his face as he crawled into the bed, not caring about his robes.

Harry raised an eyebrow but said nothing, mentally noting that Ron would be very embarrassed when he woke in wrinkled robes. Then he walked back out into the dispensing crowd of students to find Hermione.

"Potter," he turned to see Malfoy and the boy's Slytherin gang.

Harry looked the boy up, not surprised to see that the Slytherin managed to look arrogantly dressed, robes crisp and clean compared to the sleepily sloppiness of the rest of the students. One of Harry's eyebrows twitched in agitation. "Malfoy."

The Slytherins snickered at some unspoken signal and Draco swaggered forward, sweeping by Harry, silently challenging him to get offended.

Harry rolled his eyes and went off again, looking for Hermione. He, of course, didn't find her, not in the mess of students still wandering around like the walking dead but the train whistled and there was a mad rush to get to a seat--er, bed.

The twins had gotten a hold of a water gun, probably having stolen it from the Ravenclaw girl, and were squirting people too sleepy to put up much a fight. Lee was behind them, doing something behind his back and just when Harry was beginning to get worried, the seventh year pulled out a now-pink owl. It squeaked in indignation.

"There," Lee was saying, handing the owl down to a blubbering Slytherin second year too astonished to realize what had just happened. "Now it has the magical powers of rose."

Lee looked up at the unsuspected crowd rushing by him. "Who's next to give their pet to get magical powers?" He grabbed a toad from a passing Hufflepuff and Harry turned away before he could see what color the amphibian it would soon be sporting.

He walked down to the back end of the train where the students had settled, sleeping in their beds. There was some soft crying from one bedroom and Harry walked in, looking around. In one bed, trying to hide beneath the blankets of her bed, was a first year Hufflepuff. He recognized the signs of homesickness immediately.

Harry's footsteps caused her head to shoot up and she paled. Harry, instead of saying anything, took a seat on the edge of her bed. Were all first years so young, he wondered as he watched her, mentally urging her to trust him. So young and vulnerable... was Leo like this now that he wasn't there to protect his younger brother? The mere thought gave rise to chill.

The train gave a start and slowly began to move, signaling that all students and professors were aboard and the day's trip to France had begun.

She gave a low moan and ducked under her bed, sparking within Harry a sense of compassion. In a soft voice, Harry began to speak, saying the first words that came to his mind. "Hi."

She gulped and muttered her own welcome, blushing bright from beneath her sheets, obviously embarrassed by her show of weakness. "A-are you Potter?" she stuttered. Harry nodded and the train hitting its tracks was the only sound for some time.

"Do you like stories?" Harry asked, trying to open up any route of conversation, and the girl sniffed curiously. "My mum, when I was little, used to tell me stories whenever she had the time."

The girl sniffled again but answered with some strength, "Yes, but my mum's muggle so you probably don't know any of the stories she told me-"

Harry smiled very, very faintly. "My mum's family were all squibs, but they lived like muggles. I bet I know some stories that you'd recognize." She shook her head doubtfully. "Well, what's your favorite story?"

"The three goats," she replied almost instantly, then she huddled back under her blankets as if her own forwardness startled her. 

"The three goats?" Harry repeated. He tilted his head to the side. "Does it start like, 'Once there were three Billy Goats Gruff'?" She nodded excitedly, dark brown eyes watching him with interest. "All right." He took a deep breath and with his rolling voice started the story: "Once there were three Billy Goats Gruff. The oldest was Big Billy Goat Gruff who wore a collar of thick black braid. Middle Billy Goat Gruff had a red collar around his neck and Little Billy Goat Gruff. Big Billy Goat Gruff."

He went on with the story, trying to remember it as his mother had once told him, trying to remember how he told Leo back before his brother had grown embarrassed of the story telling. He pulled out his wand and waved it, and three small goats, no bigger than his hand, appeared. The Hufflepuff gasped in delight, dropping her blanket in shock. The goats butted heads and acted as though they'd always been there. In the room, the other three girls stirred to silent wakefulness. 

"Big Billy Goat Gruff had a deep, gruff billy goat voice," Harry dropped his voice down to match the goat's deep voice and the Hufflepuff giggled despite herself. "Middle Billy Goat Gruff had a middle-size billy goat voice," his voice raised to slightly normal sound. "And Little Billy Goat Gruff," his voice went high as a squeak and the other girls joined in their giggles, "had a high, little billy goat voice."

The three goats pranced about, calling to each other and their voices matched the story's description, much to the girls' amusement. The littlest one sounded like a mouse.

"All winter long," Harry continued in his normal voice, "the three Billy Goats Gruff lived on a rocky hillside. Right next to their hill ran a powerful, rushing river."

Harry waved his wand again and beneath the miniature goats' feet grew a small hill, a mirage river flowing beside it. He went on with the story, describing the goats' desire to get across the river's bridge to the other side where bright green grass grew. When he told them of the troll living beneath the bridge, he also absently called up an image to join the animated picture but his troll looked so hilariously ugly that the girls, all Hufflepuffs, broke down into high-pitched fits of laughter.

Harry let a small smile grace his face, growing easier with the girls, as he voiced the smallest goat's crossing of the bridge. "It is only I, Little Billy Goat Gruff," he said in his high-pitched voice when the troll jumped out to stop the goat's crossing.

"I'm going to eat you up!" said the troll and, despite its appearance, the girls tensed as the magicked troll before them reached out for the goat, looking ready to carry out its threat.

"Oh no!" said Harry in his Little Billy Goat Gruff's voice. "I am only a tiny, little billy goat. Wait for my brother." The other goats looked up in alarm at this suggestion. "He will make a much bigger dinner for you."

Between Harry's animated voice, smoothly telling the story, and his spell of picture showing the story, the girls were trapped up in the story and let out a breath of relief when the troll let the goat pass.

When Middle Billy Goat Gruff passed by, making the same suggestion that the troll wait for his brother, Big Billy Goat Gruff began to cross, tromping loudly across the bridge. "I'm coming to eat you up!" said the troll.

The biggest goat of them all shook its head without concern. "Come ahead," said the goat in its deep, gruff voice but none of the girls' laughed at Harry's imitation this time, too caught up in suspense as the troll rushed the goat.

"No!" one girl cried.

Harry hid another smile and waved his wand. Instead of the usual easy-win, he fixed the goat and troll so that a small battle occurred: the troll rushed up, waving its arms and slobbering at the mouth but the goat dodged, dancing out of the way. The troll tried again, bringing out its hand with suddenly sharp nails and trying to land a strike on the goat's white fur. The goat dodged again then rammed its horns, knocking the troll to the side. Minutes of shallow breath later and the goat finally managed to toss the troll over the side. The girls cheered.

Harry wrapped up the story quickly, realizing that a small audience had gathered behind him. He showed the oldest goat, joining his brothers and the three wandered over to the nice grass. "So the three Billy Goats Gruff spent their summer eating happily in the high meadows," he concluded and the images blurred. "They grew very fat and contented," he added, drawing out the last of the girls' giggles.

"Very nice, Potter," a voice drawled and Malfoy was back, leaning against the wall. Harry stiffened and the girls quieted, as if just realizing that Harry was in fact a Gryffindor. "Muggle?"

"Fairy tale," Harry replied coldly. He pocketed his wand, nodded towards the girls, and tried to leave. Malfoy stopped him.

"What do you think you're doing?" the boy hissed. "I thought we already covered this: you're _not _a Slytherin, so stop trying to be one of us."

"What are you talking about?" Harry motioned to the little girls. "They're not Slytherins. They're Hufflepuffs."

"This is the Slytherin end of the train," Draco replied smugly.

Harry narrowed his eyes but then pushed by, willing to let the whole thing drop. Beside Draco was a group of scowling Slytherins and further up, some Hufflepuffs --the only ones willing to stay so close to the Slytherin end of the train--pocked their heads out to see what the commotion was.

The time had passed and the witch who usually passed out candy now walked down the train with her cart full of breakfast foods, handing out the meal with a smile. Harry passed her, declining her offer of a Danish croissant.

"-but we're going almost too fast to even notice," Hermione's voice called to him and he walked further up the train, heading towards the room he'd dropped Ron in.

"Why do you have to question everything?" Ron asked her. "The rest of us, we're just satisfied to know that we'll be getting to France one way or other. But you, you have to go and get the specifics."

The door was opened and when he stopped in the doorway, Ron blinked in surprise before smiling. "Hey, Harry. Thought we left you at Hogwarts."

Hermione turned to see Harry. "Where were you?" she asked in relief. "No one's seen you since the train started."

"I was just talking to some first years," Harry answered, balking at giving away too much. "What were you talking about?"

Ron waved a hand to show his care. "Just about how we're crossing the channel to get to France. Hermione here had to go up and ask Dumbledore before she shut up."

"It's really interesting, Harry," Hermione added, eyes sparkling. "You see, there's a portal that connects England to France and we're going right through it, right over the English Channel."

"A portal?" Harry sat down and took up the conversation with the same eagerness that Hermione held. "But, if there's a portal, can't any muggle just wander through?"

Hermione shook her head and Ron sighed, leaning back against the wall in mock exasperation but Harry could sense of muffled interest coming from the redhead as well. "No. See, you have to be going a certain speed to activate the portal. That's why we're going so fast," she gestured out the window and Harry was startled to realize that the scenery was passing by so fast, the best he could pick out was a blur. "We'll be working up all day to get up to speed then hit the portal just after sunset."

"Where will it take us?"

Hermione tilted her head to the side and shrugged. "I really don't know. Beauxbatons is in lower France, almost on the Mediterranean Sea so I'd guess that we'll come out in southern France, near enough to the school as the tracks take us."

They talked for awhile afterwards, picking up some food when the cart came around for lunch, but as the day dragged on it bored everyone into a dull tiredness. Not even Harry, whose dreams still plagued him, could hold out against the lull of sleep.

*

__

"There you are, son," James smiled, placing a hat on Harry's head. "That'll keep the sun off you." He looked around and grinned, slipping some chocolate frogs into Harry's jacket. "But don't tell your mum, alright?"

Harry grinned but the frogs began to leap away. "Catch them!" James yelled, jumping after the frog and becoming one himself. Harry tried to catch them but each one he touched turned to chocolate and melted away. "Catch them! Catch them!" Harry touched his dad-frog and it melted away.

"Harry, where's your dad?" Lily asked, wearing an apron and coming out from the house. She looked down at the chocolate mess in Harry's hands and put her hands on her hips in vexation. "Did he give you those?" She reached over and swatted the frogs away, sending them into the air and staining the blue sky with the brown dots. It looked likes spots of corruption.

The brown spots began to grow, vibrating against the skies as the clouds fell down, hitting Harry. The whole time, Lily stood, shaking her head. "I told you chocolate's bad for you!" she called over to him. A cloud fell and slapped his head, sending the world spiraling. The brown changed color and now it was the blue skies, everything else becoming black and dark. Lily was gone.

"Hey," Leo was sitting on the floor in a puddle of dirty water. He reached down and began to drink some with a smile. "This is really good!"

"Mum says it's not good for you," Harry whined against his will, and he felt himself beginning to shrink even as Leo began to grow older.

"Mum's not here," the adult-Leo chided the child-Harry. "And you're not my dad, so you can't tell me what to do." Everything was so dark, except for those few spots of blue still in the sky. Leo's whole body began to shake and he crashed to the floor, knees shattering into a million pieces when it connected against the ground. The shattering went on; every time Leo touched the ground, a part of him shattered then was brushed away in the wind.

"That's not nice!" he chided Harry. "That hurt!"

"You shouldn't have tried to be so big," Harry chided him back, back to his original age. He went over to help put his shattered brother back together but the pieces cut his hands, tearing like glass before turning into tiny bugs that crawled beneath the torn skin, swimming into the falling blood. The more he tried to help, the more Leo turned into little bugs that infested his body and sent shivers down his spine. Finally, he'd absorbed all he could and collapsed, shattering just like his brother had with the thought that Leo had meant for him to fall this way.

A green light, "Avada Kedavra!" And Harry floated around while everyone else turned to dust and vanished.

*

Harry awoke to the dim lights of the room's candles, head bustling against the window in time with the train's movements. It was getting dark outside but that was practically all that anyone could tell. The scenery was still too blurred with speed.

"You're awake?" Ginny whispered and Harry jerked up, startled. "Shh. Ron's asleep and Hermione's just dropped off, too."

"When did you get here?" he asked, sitting up away from the cool comfort of the window. Ginny shrugged. "How long have I been sleeping?" 

"A couple hours. We're almost there, I think. But," she squealed, "you missed the best part!" He gave her a blank look. "Passing through the portal! Seeing the water below us, but going too fast to be scared. It was beautiful-"

"Attention, students, we'll be arriving in ten minutes," McGonagall's enhanced voice echoed in every room. "Please wake and for heaven's sake, straighten your robes. Remember, you'll be representing Hogwarts while you're here so behave yourselves."

"Ron, Ron wake up. Hermione, you have to get up. We're almost there." The two students blinked and straightened, yawning and stretching out their arms.

"We're there?" Hermione asked sleepily, rubbing her eyes.

"Almost," Ginny replied. "But we have to get ready. I heard that the Daily Prophet's going to be there--this is almost bigger than the World Cup!"

"The World Cup?" Ron repeated. "That's an insult! Nothing's as good as the World Cup!"

*

Almost every single country had their own wizarding school, and there were enough private schools to make up the difference. Some countries, like the United Kingdom, had chosen to come in a subtle way, not using their entrance to claim fame by riding train, bus, or boat. Others, however, tried to grab all the fame they could. This was one of the few times every country in Europe would come together, at least magically, and they wanted to go down in the history books because of it.

Russia came in, wearing great fur coats and golden medals, riding on gargantuan snow wolves, wolves large enough to stand against a man and shadow him but nothing compared to the legendary massiveness of an Arctic Wolf. The Greeks rode flying horses, some of them obviously tipsy from a combination of the ride and their wine. Spain simply apparated its students but brought along their brightly colored robes and some even dressed as matadors, laughing with others at their own customs. The Bulgarians, winners of last year's Hogwarts's hosted Triwizard Tournament arrived in a boat sparkling with gold, lighted with many dozens flying fairies. Austria's students rode in on dragons, newly hatched and small enough for each student to sit. As they left them, the dragons caught sight of the glowing fairies and let smoke sizzle from their nostrils in hunger.

In France, the stars lighted the skies, air so clean that comets looked ready to spill down and the mountains towered over all, looking like lazy brothers unwilling to move with the celebration at their feet.

Norway, Sweden, and Finland all arrived together, telling jokes and laughing though their languages differed, making friends at the touch of a hand. Celebration was all that mattered tonight. Celebration and wine.

Some country thought it would be just sensational to ride by sea but arrived in the mouth of some horrible sea creature, its would-be champions soaked to the bone and ready to kill for a shower. Another thought that bringing fantastic beasts for display would comment on their wealth, and ended up running for their lives as their creatures became loose. Ministry workers popped into existence, chiding the drinkers while slipping drinks, stopping the party from becoming too spectacular, pulling apart fights when two people of different language came together, each feeling insulted by the other.

The Hogwarts Express pulled into some magically conjured tracks, tracks that wouldn't be there come morning, and spilled out its load. Its students wanted out and wanted in, forgetting and remembering but all the while aware of the intense sensations if the air that ran like electricity, aware of the sounds of the party just beyond their sights. They could taste the wine in the air, could bite into the French pastries baking nearby, could dance as music ripped apart the night: salsa, pure and sweet, a gift from Spain. The seventh years joked and pushed each other around, each too nervous for relaxation while those younger than they hurried on, rushing up the path towards the French school of Beauxbatons.

The tracks had dumped them away from the party and now they had the enjoyment of entering the school grounds as they were supposed to be entered by all first years, seeing the sights designed to take the breath away. Last year, when the champion from France had complained of Hogwarts's plainness compared to her own school, she was laughed at and ignored. Nothing could be better than Hogwarts.

A path led from the tracks up a rolling hill. Trees and greenery abound everywhere, blocking their immediate sight of the school while doing nothing to damper the sounds, the lights the shined over into the sky. The path led them into a garden: stone, flower, and sculptures--ice and stone and more--sat frozen in motion, taking their breaths away as the flowers danced. Some students paused here, looking at the simple beauty of it all before rushing on, ready to see the real school

The path, which had disappeared beneath flower beds and sculpture heads, picked back up again and led them up the hill and over a small stream, the water slashing noisily against the rocks in its own rhythm. Finally, the trees gave away to their own pastures and the school stood before them.

A huge gate, with carvings and beauties so intricate that even the blind could feel it, rose up, stopping them from seeing the entire school, keeping the pleasure at bay. Steps rose up from the path, leading past the enormous gate and over yet another stream, this stream turning into a moat as they came closer. Past the gate was large building, huge glass walls letting them see the great tables with their waiting dinners; it was the equivalent of Hogwarts's Great Hall. Pillars held the structure together and a spiraling walkway from one side of the Great Hall went up to a top floor. Beside the Great Hall was a tall tower, a watch-point at its top and a clock embedded in its side. 

The time read midnight.

The Hogwarts students went on, passing other buildings and other rooms, heading past them all and crossing over the little streams that seemed to run loose over the school's campus to where the noise was the loudest and the lights the brightest: the Quidditch fields.

"Ignore the school," some students whispered to each other as they ran towards the field. "Ignore it or you'll miss the party." They ran, aware of their plain black robes against the Russian fur, against the Spanish colors, against the French silk. They were aware of their plain train against the golden Bulgarian ship, the Greek pegasi, the Austrian dragons. Compared to the vibrant headmaster of Spain, to the youthful German professors, and the smiling French Minister, the students knew their teachers and leaders were not the same, were perhaps even tiring or too old. But this was the night of celebration, of laughter and bolster, the night were some traditions were forgotten and others brought from the closet and shown to the world because that night, the whole world came together. The whole world came together and laughed.

'Welcome to Beauxbatons,' one sign read, repeated in several languages as it hung forgotten amidst the party. 'Welcome to home.'


	15. Chapter XIV

****

Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

__

Nicci glanced up into his eyes. "There are things you need to learn, Richard."

"Is that right."

"You have been lucky in life. You have had opportunities ordinary people never have. I want you to see how ordinary people must live, how they must struggle just to survive. When you live like them, you will understand why the Order is so necessary, why the Order is the only hope for mankind..."

Richard returned his gaze to the empty land stretching out before them. A Sister of the Dark who couldn't use her power, and a wizard who was forbidden from using his. He guessed they couldn't get any more ordinary from that.

"I thought it was you who wanted to learn," he said.

"I am also your teacher. Teachers sometimes learn more than their students."

Faith of the Fallen, Terry Goodkind

****

Chapter XIV

"For the rest of the week," Professor McGonagall was saying as Harry came down the next morning, brushing his hair out of his eyes, "you are all given permission to do as you like." From the expression on her face, the professor in no way liked saying those words. Her lips pinched together and her brows lowered themselves almost to cover her eyes. Fred and George, high-fiving each other with giant grins, did nothing to help her mood.

Harry stopped at the bottom of the stairs, curiously watching the whole of Hogwarts interact in a space about half the size of the Great Hall. Even crowded together early Sunday morning after a night of partying, the students were mostly cheerful, all grins and jokes around the room. 

A group of them noisily came downstairs behind him, laughing and messing around carelessly, not even seeing him. They shoved him against the stairway banister as they passed, and Harry quickly got out of the way. The room became even louder--nauseatingly so--as more people woke up and headed downstairs.

Harry pushed himself against the banister, face pale and wishing he could just leave, but a quick glance towards the room's exit showed the Head Boy and Girl standing guard, turning away any student who came close. If they hadn't been standing guard, he'd already be gone. A week like this was beyond imagination. 

Wind-quick, an image of a dark stag trampling its way to the outside came to his mind, recalled there by his longing to be free, but just as quickly Harry banished the thought. McGonagall, during the week last, had remarked how Harry _might_ (with years and years of practice) just maybe become an animagus. Considering her condescending tone, Harry wasn't in the mood to prove her wrong.

McGonagall turned on the twins, an accusing finger out and pointing. "_You_, however, won't be going anywhere." Fred and George stopped grinning, and she turned on all the seventh years. "That means all of you. No one who's planning on entering in the Tournament will be allowed to leave the school. We don't want to take the chance of one of you getting lost in France--lost, or hurt, or heaven knows what else--just when you're chosen to be champion. In the meantime, I expect you to take the time brushing up on your skills. For whoever is chosen, there will be no outside help." She raised an eyebrow at the round of groans her little speech caused, but as some of the younger students started to snicker McGonagall turned on them, slapping down a list of restrictions to their "freedom."

The door to the mini-hotel Hogwarts was staying at opened, offering Harry a tantalizing view of green grass and blue skies before a file of professors walked in, blocking him off. Harry grimaced and looked down from his position by the stairs, watching as the professors headed towards McGonagall, Dumbledore leading. His eyes jerked back to the closed door wishfully.

'I got to get out of here,' he thought wildly, and the body of students started pressing around him as if silently mocking him. His head bounced off the banister, and with a low curse Harry, glaring at the clueless students, started back upstairs. Dumbledore, late the night last, had conjured up hundreds of sleeping bags for every student, and Harry planned to simply wait out the crowd.

His plans were denied as another stream of teenagers came looping down the stairs, forcing him into the great crowd of people.

Harry felt like he was suffocating. Elbows jabbed at him, feet tried to trip him, and everywhere was noise as students loudly settled plans on touring the country. Paling, Harry stabbed back with his own elbows and finally emerged from the mass on the other side of the room. Those he had elbowed glared at him, but were the first to look away when he glared back.

"Hey, Harry!" From the crowd, Ron emerged with a smile and wave. The redhead paused before reaching Harry, however, and with a quick look around, yelled, "Be right back" before he jumped back into the body of people.

Harry shook his head. Why anyone would willingly enter a mob like that was beyond him. He scooted against the wall, inching beyond the mass of student arms and legs towards the door, thinking of a plan to get by the Head Boy.

Before he got far, Ron reappeared, pulling a disgruntled Hermione behind him. Spotting Harry, the Gryffindor waved again and pushed him and Hermione a way to reach Harry.

Seeing them made him want to bolt. Being stuck in a crowd with no way out wasn't putting him in the mood for pleasant conversation.

Something must have shown on his face, because Hermione's greeting smile pulled down into a worried frown. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he bit out, then swallowed as the body of students started pressing against him again. Being around so many people after a lifetime of solitude was creating a sort of claustrophobia for Harry; he felt like he was going to be pulled under and trampled. Almost angrily, he pushed a girl who was too close away, trying to reclaim some space.

"Hey!" The girl disappeared.

Ron's grin widened as if he saw something funny. "Not a people person?" he joked, then frowned when Dumbledore's voice filled the room. "Finally," the redhead muttered. "They won't let us leave. Something about an important thing Dumbledore's going to tell us." He touched Hermione's arm. "Let's get closer."

Hermione nodded and motioned for Harry to follow, but he shook his head. "I'm fine here," Harry lied, backing up against the wall. Hermione watched him, puzzled, then shrugged and pushed forward with Ron.

Alone again (save for the pressing mob of students) Harry inched back to the door. It was only a few dozen meters ahead of him, and everyone was too busy listening to Dumbledore to notice Harry shoving by. Even, Harry noted with relief, even the Head Boy and Girl had left their post by the door in favor of hearing the headmaster's message. Their desertion was being taken advantage of. Several others students probably feeling as Harry did about crowds were sneaking through the doorway. One was Draco Malfoy, and a small group of Slytherins.

Harry wasn't really listening to Dumbledore, instead just letting the man's voice was over his ears, but one second everyone was dead quiet and the next the room was deafened by cheers. Harry flinched in surprise as one teen beside him started screaming, an arm in the air waving enthusiastically, and in that moment he ran into Ron and Hermione.

Hermione was nearly squealing with delight. Grabbing Ron's arms, she breathlessly said, "Can you believe it? This is going to be so exciting!"

Ron's grin nearly split his face in two, and he was nodding just as excitedly. Seeing Harry, Ron asked, "What do you think, Harry? Bet you can't wait. You'll be on the team for sure!"

Harry's eyebrows lowered in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

His question was lost as the crowd jumped into full frenzy, nearly barreling each other over in their haste to get to the door. The Head Boy and Girl had opened the doors wide, letting out a flood of students that grabbed Harry and dragged him along outside.

Harry's hand struck to his pocket like lightening, flashing out his wand. Instinctively, Harry threw out a curse, petrifying whoever had grabbed and pulled him outside, but the overall wave of students kept pushing him along. There were too many of them! Someone shoved him and Harry knocked the student unconscious without a thought. Two others went down, cursed with more potent spells that simply dripped into Harry's mind. Just as others were beginning to notice, Harry saw a way out of the crowd and fled.

He dropped out of the crowd, nearly rolling to clear space, then slipped around the corner of the Hogwarts hotel building. His breath sounded loud in his ears, a dull roaring of blood pumping into his head. He had nearly been trampled! Sighing with relief, Harry pocketed his wand and slid to the ground, shaking slightly. Nothing like that had ever happened before. 

Burying his head in his hands, Harry suddenly groaned as he realized what he'd done. Four spells. Someone was bound to notice. The petrifying and stunning spells were rudimentary, no cause of real suspicion, but the last two...those he had learned studying by himself, complex stunning spells that knocked a wizard down and kept him too dizzy to remember much for a period of time. What normal student would know that?

Harry inhaled, then leaned back against the building wall, eyes closed as he wondered exactly how much trouble he would get in. Alone, he recalled with some amusement the thousands of tales his father had told about midnight detentions, and concluded that if physically shining some rusty armor was all the price he'd have to pay then he'd have nothing really to worry about.

Around the corner of the building, the sounds of students started calming down, and with his eyes still closed and a small smile, Harry heard Professor McGonagall quickly inspect the fallen students and say that the four must have fallen and been trampled. Perhaps he'd get in no trouble whatsoever.

"They're like animals!" McGonagall steamed, her voice carrying her anger.

There was some scuffling, then Harry's eyes widened as he heard the headmaster say, "Minerva, these students weren't simply run over. Look at this one."

McGonagall gasped loudly, and in a quiet whisper Harry heard her say, "Stunned? Why?"

A dry voice replied, "Probably just a little fight between the houses. Cooped up in a space like this, the students are thinking they can get away with anything."

Harry shuddered, eyes snapping open. That was the Defense teacher, ex-Auror Moody. While the professors continued talking, Harry rolled to his feet and quietly walked around the back of the building, losing the sound of the conversation as he got further away. He did hear McGonagall snort and ask how was the "whole game going to work if none of the students worked together," to which Dumbledore calmly answered that he was sure the students could put away house rivalries for a week at least. Understanding none of it, Harry ignored them and headed towards the largest building on campus.

The magical school of Hogwarts had been a castle with all its classes and rooms situated on different floors. Beauxbatons, however, was much more modern: each of the major classes (Defense, Potions, whatnot) had its own building. The school campus was a lazily placed collection of huge white buildings connected to each other by dirt paths and separated by small streams. The largest of the buildings, Harry learned as he entered, was something similar to the Great Hall of Hogwarts, but also had a library as an upstairs floor.

All the students, or most of them, were gathered inside this version of the Great Hall, and all were already eating breakfast.

A small group of Spanish speakers strolled by, eyeing but then dismissing him. Going the opposite way was a group of French students who watched the whole assembly with wide eyes. Likely, Harry thought to himself as he wandered along the rows, the French students were awed by the thousands of invaders to their school.

Hogwarts ate together in one corner of the room, busting with loud English. Harry paused, watching them eat. Here were the twins, there was Malfoy, and over to the side sat Hermione and Ron. Even as a school sitting together surrounded by strangers, Hogwarts had strangely divided up on itself so that each house sat together. Hufflepuffs crowded the middle of the table, Ravenclaw next to them and the other two houses sitting on far sides of the benches. Shaking his head, Harry leaned back against a wall and quietly watched the rest of the schools. Here and there, he could pick out similar divisions but altogether the other schools had banded together with no obvious distinctions.

'Maybe I just don't see them,' he quietly wondered, then grabbed an orange from one table and left. 'Maybe.'

As he headed towards the door, he was again caught up in a crowd, this time a crowd of a foreign school. It seemed like the school had eaten as quickly as possible, practically inhaling their breakfast, and he passed just as they finished. Instinct rose again, but Harry forced himself to stay calm as he was dragged outside and down a path with the hundreds of others.

He didn't understand the language, but unlike the Hogwarts mob, this crowd wasn't the least bit hostile. Everyone strolled along at a comfortable pace towards a great empty field in the distance, and everyone had a broom. It felt calm, and Harry felt calm in it. No one noticed him, a stranger in their midst, and he gladly drank in the anonymity. Things were almost normal, with him getting no attention.

When everyone stopped in the field, all conversation pausing in a moment of tension, Harry realized that all the brooms were going to be put to good use.

The students lined up almost as if at a silent signal, and as one they took off into the air. Harry was left alone on the ground, but only for a moment. Almost as soon as some students flew up, they landed with a slightly unwell expression on their faces. No one noticed him still on the ground.

Several dozens stayed in the air, flying around with obvious skill. They likely were members of the school's multiple Quidditch teams, Harry reflected. One guy zoomed up to what Harry imagined was the broom's height limit, them simply dropped. The dive was breathtaking, perfectly executed. As his broom gained speed, falling fast as a star, the boy eased up any wind fraction by gripping his robes tighter. However, as Harry watched, he noticed the guy's face crumbled up in fear.

"Unbelievable," he murmured to himself in disgust, no longer watching the flyer in awe. "To be afraid when the world is beneath you..." His fingers itched to try a dive, his body ached to be in the air--not to show off, but to reacquaint himself with the weightless feeling of the air and the sensation of falling forever.

'Indeed.' The dry thought echoed in his head, stopping him short. It was the same voice that had bothered him with Sirius. It hadn't been his thought.

The students all flew gracefully, if a little fearful of their personal limits. Each probably had unsettled stomachs, especially after flying after a meal and in the chill morning air. Harry glanced up at the just-risen sun, estimating the time to be only about eight. To be up flying this early had to be wonderful. The air itself seemed to clear up just to show off the heavens.

Whatever the reason the school had for this early practice session, Harry had no reason to complain. He sat down in the grass among the hundreds of other students who had stopped flying and simply watched. He could quickly pick out the better flyers--in fact, as he thought about it and watched the other students, he realized that _that_ was the point of the whole exercise: to pick out the best. The whole picture was like a crowd gathered around a circus's star performers. Each flyer was trying to outdo all his or her competition by trying mindless stunts, and in response the watching students would occasionally "Ohh," pointing out a particular student.

Of the group still flying, one or two would sometimes flutter to the ground, looking back to those still flying enviously as they joined the spectators. There was some unseen mean of cutting down the competition going on, and it puzzled Harry.

At last, the only people flying was a group of seven, all showing off the greatest ability of certain talents. Together, they formed a formidable Quidditch team, and after everything Harry was left wondering if this little ceremony was really just a traditional thing to pick out the school's star players. 'But what's the purpose of that?' he thought, puzzling over the question. 'What's the purpose of a single school team? Who would be the competition?'

Suddenly, someone jabbed him. A little girl, no older than thirteen, blushed red to her roots and stammered out an apology. Harry smiled softly, dipped his head forward, and then went back to watching. The girl, however, kept talking to him in an anxious tone, obviously firing off a round of questions at him. Since he didn't understand a word, all Harry could do was shake his head.

It was the wrong reaction. The girl, not understanding what _he_ was trying to say, started talking louder, probably asking him why he wasn't answering, and her voice drew the attention of more students. He, not being a student of the school, was recognized by no one, and soon there was a small group surrounding him, shooting off question after question in a foreign tongue. Overwhelmed, Harry raised his hands. "I don't understand what you're saying," he simply stated.

His words--or, more specifically, his language--was like a trigger. The students around him paused, shocked into momentarily silence, then they started yelling. Not questions anymore, no, they sounded like accusations.

Perplexed, Harry raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry," he tried again, but the students only got red in the face. More faces turned his way, and that feeling of being trampled came back. Harry blinked, looking around as faces turned hostile. He didn't understand. Was this a secret ceremony? Slowly, to the sound of rather vile-sounding phrases, Harry rolled to his feet.

As Harry stood, one of the boys sauntered up, darkly spitting words in his face, and Harry frowned. Secret ceremony or not, he wasn't about to just let someone insult him. With deliberate slowness, Harry straightened his robes, wiping off grass, and all the while staring the boy back in the eyes. Out of the corner of his vision, Harry witness one of the students walking towards him, and his hand silently pulled out his wand, pushing the stick up his sleeve and out of sight. Carefully watching the mob, Harry began to back up towards the path. The feeling of leaving his back exposed was sending a dull roar to his ears, but Harry forced his steps to be calm.

So much for that escape.

He looked back after going a decent distance to see most of the teens huddled, a few probably still jeering at his back. No one was in the air. Pity. It had been a nice show while it lasted.

Shrugging off thoughts of the school, Harry headed back towards the Great Hall to see if anyone was still there, but it seemed like time had flown as fast as a snitch. It was over an hour since he'd left. Wearily, Harry leaned against the Great Hall's wall, looking around and wondering what he could be doing. Of all the things Harry hated most, inactivity was at the top of his list behind Aurors and Death Eater traitors. Sighing, Harry resignedly turned back into the Great Hall and headed up the stairs to the library. If there was nothing else to do, he could just find something to read.

*

"Man!" Ron stretched, gangly arms reaching high enough to touch the ceiling. Hermione rolled her eyes, but, seeing an irresistible opportunity, snaked her hand forward to tickle his midriff. He yelped, arms falling down like bullets. "Hermione!"

"You're stomach was showing," she replied dryly, hiding a smile. "I was just trying to pull down your shirt."

"Right." He winked at her. "You're just making sure no one else sees what's yours."

Snorting, Hermione shook her head. "Who'd else want that?" she joked, but cautiously. Sometimes, Ron seemed to lose all self-confidence so anytime they joked around she had to make sure he knew she meant nothing serious. 

Luckily, Ron grinned, catching onto her humor. "Want to take a poll?" he offered. "Go around to all the girls and ask if they'd want to spend a couple hours with _the_ Ron Weasley and you'll see how much competition you got real quick."

"None, right?" Hermione shot back, smiling. "Besides, they all know that you're mine, and they better remember."

Ron only shook his head, grabbing her hand to start forward. They'd fallen behind their group some. Probably, Hermione thought, the group had sped up to escape the goggling romantics. It was about lunchtime, and everyone, while enjoying sightseeing immensely, had agreed to come back to Beauxbatons to eat instead of coughing up the Galleons.

They caught up in time to see Ginny point out another group in the distance. "Look," Ron's little sister commented, "isn't that George and Fred?"

Colin shadowed his eyes with a hand and nodded. "And Lee. Looks like they're practicing their dueling skills."

"Let's go watch," Hermione suggested eagerly. "Maybe we'll catch a spell."

"What spell would they know that you don't?" Seamus asked, but altogether the group of ten headed off towards the seventh years. Actually, Hermione checked that thought; off to the side, Lavender and Parvati formed really their own group. Most of them were fifth years, but Ginny and a couple of her friends had come along. Everyone, Hermione thought fiercely, was a Gryffindor here.

Watching the twins duel was always awesome. The two seemed to sense each other's moves, sometimes even using the same attack at the same time. They made a duel a mix between serious spells, like the disarming spell or stunning charm, and jokes. Fred would sidestep getting disarm and would retaliate with a tickling charm that George would barely dodge. Against one another, the twins were locked to a standstill with neither gaining or losing much ground, but together against any opponent Hermione had to admit that they might form one of the greatest dueler-pairs of the century.

Unfortunately, Lee was finding that out the hard way.

"Two against one isn't fair odds!" the announcer objected, getting only the twins' laughter in response and being forced to nearly drop to the ground as a slug charm skimmed the air.

"Yea, but you agreed to it," Fred pointed out, sending out another tickling charm. Lee reflected it, but his hastily-erected shield shattered when George attacked with a confusing spell. The spell nearly got Lee at that.

"Besides," George continued the thought as if it were his own, "next round you team up with Fred. It's not fair right now, but we're all taking turns."

"Somehow, I don't think being double-teamed is going to help me much," Lee muttered under his breath, but surprisingly one of his spells got through the twins' defense. A bright light blinded George, who yelped and blindly dodged Lee's follow-up attack.

The spells became more complicated as it became a regular duel. George recovered but sat out, then motioned to Ron when he noticed their group. "Hey!" the twin greeted with a grin, wiping at large tears. "How's Paris?"

"Beautiful," Ginny gushed, rapping out details with astounding accuracy.

Hermione smiled with a little nod then went back to watching the duel. Her attention only returned when she caught onto the edge of the conversation. Looking at George, she asked, "What was that?"

"Huh?" George blinked, then shrugged. "Oh, just saying that you guys left Harry in a huff."

"We couldn't find the little bugger," Ron replied tensely. "You think he doesn't want to hang out with us or something."

"Well, he was in the library not too long ago. We went in there to check out a Defense book. It's always good to know more, especially if we get picked for this," and he jerked a thumb to the dueling teens.

Ginny had sat down on the grass along with Neville and Colin, all three talking away like they hadn't a care in the world. Hermione envied them that. Right now, she was a little more worried about Harry.

Dean watched Fred, then looked over to Seamus. "I bet I could best you at a duel," he boasted, bringing his wand out to saluting position.

"You think?" Seamus shook his head, but also assumed a dueling position. "You can't last five minutes."

"Nothing below the belt," Dean warned cautiously, and Seamus laughed. Dean used the opportunity to get out a color-changing charm, and a pink Seamus cursed aloud, sending back a magical retort.

"Color hits?" Seamus offered to a steaming orange Dean, who agreed.

George cracked a grin at them. "Kids." When one of their spells came too close, though, his smile faded. "Hey! Back off! I don't want to be blue today."

Hermione watched them duel for a minute, then looked back to Fred and Lee whose spells were now bordering on the edge of her knowledge. She felt like she could just watch them all day, and Ron picked up some of that as he nudged her and leaned in close to say, "Just remember that you're _my_ girlfriend, even if I'm not too smart."

Hermione fought a grin as she nudged him back. "I know that," she declared in a whisper, "but you had better remember that you're _my_ boyfriend, and I don't date idiots." There. Let him figure that one out.

Ron grinned lazily, getting what she was saying.

George, oblivious to the wonderful mood he was breaking into, loudly asked Ron's opinion on Dumbledore's little announcement. "It's going to be bloody great," the twin announced. "All the schools going against each other in a Quidditch tournament?"

Hermione almost sighed when Ron turned around and nodded, but instead decided to lean against his shoulder. He put up with her little obsessions; she had to be able to put up with his. 'Well,' she thought rebelliously, 'I _did_ go to all his Quidditch matches.'

"Who do you thinks going to be in our school team?" Ron asked enthusiastically.

George shrugged. "Don't know. Could be that one of the kids who never plays is really a star. That's why we get the field at four. Everyone gets a chance to show off." He looked up towards the sky, then glanced over to where Hermione expected the Quidditch pitch was. "But we only get an hour."

"You don't think that's enough time?" Hermione asked, drawn into the conversation. She knew enough about Quidditch to follow Ron's bizarre conversations, and real Quidditch practices only took an hour's time.

George shook his head. "Let's put it this way. The Swedes had the pitch all morning, and by the time their hour was up they were making up excuses to keep practicing."

Ron grinned. "Excuses?"

"Something about another school sending down a student to spy on them, and because of that they need at least an hour to change their strategy."

Hermione smiled at Ron's face, then laughed aloud when that face suddenly turned orange. George blinked, then cracked a grin.

"Sorry!" Dean called out.

"Oh, you'll be sorry!" Ron started, standing up.

Hermione grabbed his waist. "Stay here," she ordered. "I'm using you as a support."

"But Hermione..." He looked longingly towards Dean and Seamus, then sighed and sat back down. "All right, but change me back."

She grinned. "What if I don't want to?" she teased, tugging on a hair strand. "You look pretty good orange."

"If you like it so much, you go orange."

"Oy, you might want to change him back quick, Hermione," George suddenly cautioned, standing up as he said so. His face had lost its grin, looking pointedly to the path heading back to Beauxbatons. He sighed and looked over to where his twin was dueling. "I've got to start dueling in a minute, but I'll be watching in case anything gets out of control."

Impulsively, Hermione removed the charm then looked over to see the Slytherin group returning for lunch, headed by Draco Malfoy. She frowned. Malfoy took every opportunity possible to make Ron's life miserable, but for the most part the Slytherin held himself apart. Now, he was heading straight towards them, entourage and all. "I'm really not in the mood to deal with him," she muttered beneath her breath, and Ron squeezed her hand before standing to meet the Slytherin. George gave the two of them a last look then reluctantly moved off to where Fred and Lee had paused and were obviously waiting.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Ron questioned calmly as if the question really didn't matter, as if he was only the slightest bit curious. "I really don't need you and yours hanging around here. Harmful for the environment and all."

Malfoy looked around as if searching for something then grunted and stared back at Ron with a sneer. "You're flattering yourself if you think I've come here for you," he shot back chillingly. "I was just wondering where that Potter was off to. I guess he got some common sense and skipped out on you once and for all." Two of his group, boys as large as small mountains, snickered.

"Maybe," Ron allowed, still calm. "Or maybe he just left to grab some food for the rest of us."

Malfoy actually blinked, one of the few times Hermione ever saw the Slytherin close to being unsettled. "Getting your food?" he repeated incredulously. "You've reduced him to a servant?" For some reason, Malfoy let out a biting laughter, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

Hermione could see the tips of Ron's ears becoming red. That was his worse problem, and Malfoy knew it. Ron couldn't stand to be laughed at, and whenever he was, he lost his temper. Taking a deep breath, she stood up next to Ron and glared at Malfoy. "Did you want something?"

"Oh, it's the mudblood," one of Malfoy's girls teased, seeing Hermione stand.

Malfoy smiled lazily, eyes narrowing. "Need the mudblood to stand up for you, Weasley?"

"Watch your mouth," Ron snapped, swallowing.

"Five points from Slytherin," Hermione coolly added. At the Slytherin's look, she raised an eyebrow and reminded, "I am still a Prefect, Malfoy, or have you forgotten?"

Malfoy frowned, giving the place another look around. "How could I?" he finally answered, voice low and dark. "It's an insult to Hogwarts' dignity."

He turned around so she couldn't glare at him and made a motion to the group following him. "As loath as I am to stay in your company, and believe me I am, I'm going to have to stay around until Potter shows up." His eyes flashed with something she couldn't place. "I have some things to discuss with him."

Ron shook his head, calming down again--Hermione could have whooped for joy at the determination in his face. "Harry isn't here, Malfoy," the fifth year informed firmly. "He didn't come with us this morning. Go look for him yourself if you need to talk."

"And what are you going to do?" Malfoy asked with sickening curiosity. "Bore me to death? Don't make me laugh. I'm not leaving until Potter gets here."

"He isn't here," Ron repeated, crossing his arms over his chest, "and as _loathe_ as you are to stay here, no one wants you here. I suggest you leave before I make you."

Warning sirens were going off in her head, and she turned to Ron. "Ron, don't!"

Malfoy actually laughed, but his wand suddenly was out and pointing. Face tilted forward, the Slytherin dared Ron to make him leave. When Ron didn't reply, Malfoy taunted, "Scared, Weasley? Does all that Gryffindor courage only count when it comes to talking?"

Ron's wand was out as well. Hermione's little burst of joy at seeing Ron control his temper was popped. It seemed that Ron's temper was as little controllable as ever. Crossly, she stepped between them, facing Ron. "Stop it," she ordered, voice a little shaky. Wands out? How did it come to actual spells? "Just leave him be, Ron. Let's go get something to eat."

Though she wasn't facing him, Hermione could practically see the smirk on Malfoy's face when he said, "So the mudblood comes to fight after all. What do you think?"

For a minute, she thought he had actually been addressing her, but when Hermione turned to speak her mind (and an angry mind at that) she realized that Draco had been talking with that Slytherin girl, Pansy Parkinson. Parkinson sneered, arrogantly fanning herself with one hand as she declared, "That's the only thing that kind is good for: a body count." She put a hand on Malfoy's arm. "Come on, Draco, I'm absolutely done for if I don't get some water."

Malfoy gave her a sort of twisted smile and muttered, "Later. Let's find Potter first." She smiled back. Hermione wanted to vomit.

'At least the whole duel is over,' Hermione thought to herself with some small relief. Malfoy's wand had slipped back into one pocket as he and his... 'Ew!' ... girlfriend talked quietly, walking a bit off thankfully. Hermione's sigh, however, came too soon. She'd forgotten about Ron.

"Hey Malfoy," Ron yelled. "You forgetting something?" Malfoy, of course, turned around just in time to get slapped with Ron's leg locker curse--or would have been, if one of his bodyguards hadn't been standing in the way. Either way, one of the enormous boys went down with a yelp and the whole Slytherin group went down on the offense.

Hermione wanted to slap herself, slap Ron, and then double-slap Malfoy for provoking the whole episode.

Dean and Seamus, who'd evidently been watching everything, were there immediately to back Ron up, and while Ginny and Colin watched in semi-fascination, Neville actually stood to join Ron as well. Hermione looked wistfully towards where the twins and Lee were dueling, but all three were too caught up to do much help and so, resignedly, she took her place beside Ron, wand in the ready position.

Malfoy spared a glance to his fallen friend, then gave a mini-shrug and nodded towards a skinny boy. Blaise Zabini, Hermione thought absently, then threw up a shield at the curse Zabini unleashed.

"What the..." She watched as the sickly green light ran into the shield and split into dozens of little clouds that merely flew around the shield to encircle Neville. "Neville, watch it."

"I know what I'm doing," Neville shouted back, a little nervously, but Hermione quickly realized that the boy was telling the truth. His parents had taught him well; just when the green clouds nearly reached him, Neville conjured up a pink bubble cage that surrounded the clouds.

"What was that?" Ron murmured, blinking at the green swirls.

Hermione bit her lip, then shrugged truthfully. "I have no idea."

His face hardened. "Probably Dark Arts."

"They wouldn't use anything like that here!"

"Let's hope not."

Dean shouted something, jerking Hermione back to the duel. Her shield still held, but she'd forgotten how recently everyone else had learned about the protective magic. Dean's shaky shield had shattered, and Seamus' didn't look like it'd hold much longer. Neville, with that pink bubble cage, was perfectly protected.

"Hey mudblood," Parkinson called out like a master to a dog, "come and get it."

"Don't call me that!" Hermione glared at the girl.

Parkinson didn't verbally respond. Instead, glaring, Hermione found herself about to get a face full of some bright yellow light. It was the same spell that had gotten through the twins' defense to blind George. Quickly, Hermione loosed her defensive shield and dropped, eyes closed tight. When she'd watched George, she'd seen how the spell burned on contact with the shield to release its blinding light. Hopefully, her idea was right and she'd dropped her defenses for a good reason.

The spell's ball of light rather harmlessly shot by her head and into the sky, leaving Hermione silently congratulating herself. She got to her feet, a shield conjured up again, and threw a petrifying curse at Parkinson, hitting the girl square in the chest. Another pat on the back.

While the Slytherin went down, Hermione looked around with some satisfaction. Her Gryffindors were holding their own. The other giant boy had fallen, that Zabini boy was cornered by Dean and Neville, and the three others had been stunned or were shaking their heads in dizzied disarmament. The only real battle still going on was between Malfoy and Ron.

She stepped forward to help.

Ron was losing quickly, and Hermione was forced to admit that if Draco wasn't using the Dark Arts, then he was sure using some complicated spells. She couldn't even identify half of the things he threw at Ron, most of which were deflected by her forgotten shield around her boyfriend. Ron sent out a petrifying spell and missed, but dodged Malfoy's bar of light.

When she got close enough to hear, Malfoy was saying, "...you're a Pureblood. Where's your dignity?"

"I still have enough. Where's yours? I'm guessing your family's income took a hit five years ago."

'Ron,' Hermione silently pleaded, 'please don't go there.'

"Explain yourself, Weasley," Malfoy demanded coldly.

"Don't think I really have to. Everyone knows the Malfoys were one of You-Know-Who's greatest supporters-"

"So scared that even after five years, you can't say his name?" The Slytherin's face was expressionless, which made his words all the more frightening. "What's the matter? Scared He might come back?"

"Of course not." Ron's voice was tight enough that Hermione could tell his words for a lie. "You should be, though. If e ever did come back, I'm sure he wouldn't' be too happy at how easily you guys cut all ties-"

"More accusations? My family is clear of any charges. Say more at your dare."

Ron's eyes were narrowed like they got when he was really mad, and Hermione just knew that the next words out of his mouth were going to be something everyone would regret. "Death Eater," her boyfriend hissed, quietly so that only she and Malfoy could hear.

The words nearly tripped the Slytherin, but then Malfoy inhaled sharply, eyes dark with rage. "Say it again," the boy dared, but when Ron opened his mouth to comply, Malfoy's wand spewed forth a spell of black light at its end, waiting to be released.

"Ron! Watch out!" Hermione screamed. Ron, of course, didn't move. If she'd not been so focused on him, Hermione might have realized that Ron wasn't moving because he was looking at something beyond Malfoy, or she might have realized that whatever spell Malfoy was about to say had stopped, the black light swallowed up again by the wand.

"And what is going on here?"

The strange voice felled Hermione, and she would have tripped in surprise if Ron hadn't caught her. Turning, she saw an older version of Malfoy, older and more vicious. Malfoy Senior, she realized belatedly. 'What's he doing here?'

The older Malfoy wasn't alone. Behind him in a short file, about a dozen wizards and witches in official-looking robes were all watching on in interest. The patches on their sleeves made her understand... They were the school Governing Board.

Malfoy Junior adopted an almost docile position, looking up emotionlessly towards his father. "Nothing, of course," came the answer in a truthful tone. "It's just that those seventh years are practicing dueling, and these Gryffindors wanted to try it out as well." The Slytherin smiled slyly. "My friends and I didn't want to fight. We'd just gotten back from Paris, heading to lunch actually, when these Gryffindors attacked us. Goyle didn't even realize it until he went down."

Malfoy Senior made a deep noise in the back of his throat, examining his son, then sweeping his gaze over the rest of the students there as if daring them to deny the account. Hermione cleared her throat, about to protest, when the wizard looked at her and then she simply withered. She had the courage of Gryffindor behind her, but that wizard's look promised extreme revenge if she spoke, and she didn't want to test it.

"Well, I don't think anything wrong's going on," one of the witches declared cheerfully, grinning at all the students cheekily. "I remembered my days as a student. Ah, so long ago. Then, you know, dueling was not only legal, it was promoted. We had exceptional duelists in my age, if I may say so."

"Indeed?" Malfoy Senior raised his glance to give the witch an empty smile, then motioned for the governors to move on. "Why don't you continue? I would like to speak to my son for a moment. I'm sure Madam Maxine," Hermione noted the quick mocking sneer on the wizard's face, there and then gone, "has already provided rooms for our stay."

"Wonderful, isn't it?" Another witch asked as the group moved on, not exactly rushing forward but moving with a quickness that Hermione suspected came from a desire not to displease Malfoy. "That we were offered a stay during the first week."

"I'd say that we weren't the only ones," a wizard replied, and then the group went out of earshot.

Hermione turned to look at the damage and was surprised to see that not only were all the Slytherins back on the feet, but they were already moving away lead by Malfoy's father. All her Gryffindors, of course, had been left with many hurts taken during the fight.

"Let's get to the hospital wing," she murmured wearily. "I could use a Pepper-Up Potion."

"I second that," Fred replied tiredly, coming up with George and Lee, all three yawning. He shook his head. "This dueling isn't the best of things."

Lee was looking around in confusion. "What happened here?"

"Seamus and Dean were dueling and things kind of got out of hand," Ron hurriedly explained, the tips of his ears turning red.

Dean, Neville, and Seamus looked back and forth until Hermione pointedly nodded her head, then when all three murmured quiet agreements, Lee merely shrugged and walked off talking about how kids were. Fred laughed, socking Seamus in the shoulder, and George looked at Ron hard before shrugging and hurrying to rejoin the two.

"So..." Seamus elbowed Ron. "Don't want us to go around gloating?"

"Nothing really happened," Ron answered, "so do we really need to tell anyone?" They glanced at each other until Ron added, "If McGonagall finds out we've been fighting, she'll make sure none of us play Quidditch for the rest of the year."

"True," Dean agreed with a grin. "Besides, what's there to tell? We just beat some Slytherin arse!"

Hermione shook her head as the boys gained heart, then realized that Ginny had been the smart one to leave with Colin. All this had happened in the last fifteen minutes, just because they'd come back for lunch? She shook her head again, wondering how long it'd be until they were safe back in Hogwarts.

*

"Humiliating," Lucius Malfoy was muttering to himself, a low growl barely loud enough to be heard as he lead the group of Slytherins towards the dining area. 

The students, however, were meant to hear. Draco lowered his head half an inch while Pansy flinched; the others swallowed and allowed themselves to fall a few steps behind the wizards, likely in hopes that the distance would save them from his anger. Draco eyed them distastefully and mentally the word "cowards" echoed in his head. 

"Beaten... by Gryffindors..."

Well, that certainly hadn't been the plan, Draco thought rebelliously, though he made sure his face was blank when his father happened to glance backward. 'It isn't as though I walked up to the prats and asked to be attacked, now did I?' he wordlessly shot off to his father, no trace of bitterness marring his expression.

His father led them into the dining area, a circus-like arena. If it were possible, Draco would call the place worse than Hogwarts. The only thing good about the French school was the distance _from_ Hogwarts; even the fabled ice statues were rather lame in Draco's opinion--most of them were shedding watery ice, layering the grounds of the gardens in mud. The room was nearly filled to capacity, and glancing up through the glass flooring of the second-floor library, Draco could see that even there, space was limited. He could see dirtied foot trails destroying what could have been a decent design.

"Absolutely unacceptable," his father finished, turning to glare at the small group. "I will not tolerate such behavior, not while the governors are touring the school." His black stare demolished any thought of rebellion the teenagers might have had, any murmur of protest.

Some of the Slytherins, however, muttered darkly despite the obvious visual warning. Draco eyed them with a sort of aloof curiosity, wondering what such disrespect would gain. Idiots, he called mentally. 

'They are slow,' his mother had advised him before he'd even entered his first year at Hogwarts. 'They haven't the education you have.'

Lucius eyed the group, almost as if measuring them, then, to Draco's great disappointment, his father turned away and looked around, meaning to let the Slytherins get away with their presumptions. Draco bit his lip and said nothing.

The time was just about noon, with most of the thousands of students already gathering around for their lunchtime meals. Lucius walked, and this time, only Draco followed. The others took Lucius's obvious hint and left. Father and son marched down the hall's space towards the great tables at the end of the room, where headmasters and governors sat. Few others realized yet that the governors of the many school Boards had arrived, even with those governors sitting at the head of the room. If the students had, the great bubble of excited noise would likely have been squished.

Draco took his seat to his father's right, allowing himself a certain arrogance in looking across the rest of the student population. His and his father's plates appeared at the places they chose, accompanied by a selection of food.

Lucius sniffed, eyebrows lowering as he looked at the food offered. "Disgusting," he murmured to Draco, purposefully crossing his silverware across the plate and sliding the still-full dish away. Draco, who hadn't eaten since breakfast, held back from snatching so much as a bread roll as he followed his father's example. Lucius disdainfully looked over the table before reluctantly picking up a goblet of water, and Draco noted how the governors of Hogwarts who had been eating so happily had started slowing, only picking at their food and finally settled on drinking only the water as Lucius did.

"Tell me," his father started suddenly, and Draco's eyes whipped to Lucius's face only to see that his father was addressing another governor, "are the students always this disrespectful? I would have thought that, seeing how Board is responsible for their education and, in part, for this very occasion, a certain amount of respect would be afforded."

The addressed governor flustered for a moment, then muttered some reply Draco didn't catch. The other governors who'd heard hardened their faces, and some even shot stony looks at the students. Lucius's conversation was quickly passed down the table until Madam Maxine, who Draco recognized from the year before, was told. The giant headmistress's face flushed and she stood, grabbing the room's attention as she stiffly said some words in French. What they were, Draco couldn't care, but instantly most of the students quieted and began to stare at the indignant governors whose prides had been injured. 

At the Malfoy Manor, meals were always served in silence, unless talk was absolutely necessary.

Draco smirked at his fellow Hogwarts students when they looked at him, and made a large gesture of taking a sip of water. The Gryffindors had snuck in sometime, and he could pick out spots of red hair at one end of the table. Magnanimously, Draco tipped his head towards the group who'd attacked him outside, and nearly grinned as Weasley went red in the face.

The mudblood, however, whispered something and instead of causing a scene as Draco had hoped, Weasley instead looked away, face turned to the Hogwarts table, searching. Intrigued, Draco looked over the table as well, but whoever the mudblood had noticed missing, Draco couldn't tell.

"Draco, I have been hearing some rumors," Lucius said, seizing Draco's immediate attention again. Draco watched, trying to find any clue in the way his father's face suddenly became void of all expression, in the way his father suddenly looked slightly pale. Lucius took a moment to raise the goblet to his lips, then continued saying, "Rumors about a new student at Hogwarts."

The words were said quietly, and Draco was the only one who heard despite the stern hush that had fallen along the students. Draco's neck almost snapped back to the Hogwarts table, eyes quickly zooming across the many students there in search of one particular boy who should have stuck out in any crowd as one who didn't belong. He eyed one side, then the other of the table, eyes trying to pick out a single face from the masses, and his mind realized that the person he was looking for was the same as Weasley had been.

Lucius had raised an eyebrow at Draco's silence. "Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts, father, if that's who you're talking about," Draco answered smoothly.

To his surprise, Lucius took another sip of his water before speaking, a sign that the conversation his father was beginning to tread upon was one of some import. Impatiently, Draco waited for an answer.

"Yes, Potter..." Lucius put the glass down, staring into Draco's eyes with an unreadable look on his face. "You certainly... remember everything I've told you about that boy, don't you?"

Draco held back from some biting answer, settling on a quick nod. Who could forget? As a child while the Dark Lord reigned, Draco's father had been given the highest honor of all Death Eaters--Voldemort himself had given Lucius the task of watching over the Dark Lord's interests. Draco had grown up hearing his parents speak about the Potters, had been given intimate facts about all aspects in the family's life. And while Lord Voldemort was truly only interested in some prophesized second son, it had been the first son who had become the Death Eater's prodigy. Harry Potter, growing up with only Death Eaters for company, had become almost a legend among the ranks of Voldemort's army, and when Lord Voldemort had heard of how quickly Potter progressed, he made it so that even seeing the boy was an honor, a special privilege given only to the best of the best.

Draco had grown up with his parents focused on this child prodigy whose own parents taught him Light magic even as Death Eaters taught him Dark. Once, even, his father had smuggled him to a cottage the Potters lived and Draco was given a glimpse of a black haired youth who played tag in the forest. Yes, he knew Harry Potter, likely better than the boy knew himself--or at least, Draco once had.

The thought made him frown slightly, an expression he hid by going for a drink. His father had been drawn into a conversation from a governor, leaving Draco free to his thoughts.

He once knew every aspect of Harry Potter's life, from the boy's strengths to his weaknesses to the plans the Dark Lord had for the future. That, of course, had been five years ago, and in the brief times Draco had talked to him since then, Potter didn't act even one bit like the child he had been. Where was the power that the boy was supposed to radiate by now? Where was the unshaken belief in every Death Eater principle and, along those lines, where was any sign that Potter even knew what a Death Eater knew? This boy that Draco observed seemed, more than anything, an antisocial simpleton. There was some intelligence, sure; but Draco suspected that whatever knowledge Potter possessed, had Potter been any less intelligent he'd not be able to attend Hogwarts.

So, intelligence bordering on average with no personality that Draco could discern... Draco steepled his fingers, leaning his elbows on the table. All those legends he'd heard as a child, all those speculations on the wonder Potter would grow to be... all gone? All proven wrong? The boy had only been ten when Voldemort fell. Was five years time enough to erase Potter's memory of ten years?

There was an Auror living with the Potter brothers, Draco remembered with a sinking feeling. Potter had been, according to Lucius, an easy child to mold. Had ten years of shaping Potter's mind been easily dispelled by a life with an Auror? Sirius Black, the boy's godfather, and there was that Ministry-employed werewolf. Stomach clenching, Draco glanced at his father with a brief feeling of understanding. That must be what Lucius feared, that Potter's potential was undone by the misfortune of being placed under the worst possible guardians. That must be the reason the boy had no personality; anything he might have had before had already been brainwashed away by Ministry garbage.

For a few more minutes while his father detached himself from the conversation, Draco allowed his mind to wander through the multitude of possibilities, wondering what was to be done about the Potter boy. Potter knew too much, and if he remembered anything there could be a danger--what if, the thought popped up, Potter had already told his godfather about a childhood in the midst of Death Eater companions?

"Fools."

Draco nearly jumped when he realized his father was now free to talk, then as Lucius stood Draco noticed that most of the area had already drained out. Lunch must be over. Dully, he stood as well.

Lucius didn't seem to notice his son's distracted motions as they walked from the dining arena. Outside, the sun was burning hot in the sky, burning up the shadows of trees and buildings. A noise caught his attention, and Draco noticed the broom-filled field off in the distance as yet another school flew off for practice.

"The governors have finally decided to begin working," Lucius began, recalling Draco's attention. His father looked as agitated as he always was when dealing with fool bureaucrats. "It will last approximately one hour. I expect in that time that you find the Potter boy."

They had been walking away from the building, passing the clock tower, and Draco was caught so off guard, he almost stumbled. "W-what?"

"Honestly, Draco," Lucius paused to shift his cloak on his shoulders, "did you think I didn't notice the boy's absence? I am not blind, and if I were, that Weasley boy and his little mudblood were making panic enough to draw everyone's attention." His father frowned, an expression of slightest worry. "Potter does not consider them his friends, does he?"

Before Draco could answer (and he truly did not know any real answer), Lucius made a dismissive gesture. "Never mind that. Concern yourself only in finding the boy." Lucius honored him with a slight nod before walking off to join what Draco saw was a growing body of governors. As soon as his father was among them, the wizards and witches began walking further, likely to one of the scattered buildings with a fireplace to conduct long-range meetings.

Draco dragged his feet awhile, then turned to find his companions, planning to simply delegate this responsibility to someone else. After all, if Potter had really lost every potential, Draco could no longer allow himself to even tolerate the boy's presence. Perhaps Blaise could find Potter before the hour was done.

*

"He was there," Draco offered simply after the meeting ended and Lucius had found him waiting outside near the clock tower. "The library. He went up there about an hour after breakfast and hasn't come down since."

Harry liked being outdoors, Lucius remembered with a little wonder. What would the boy be doing inside for hours at a time? "Let's go, then," he ordered, moving to lead.

The area was empty save for the cleaning house-elves, all of whom vanished with a bang once they noticed the wizards. Lucius paid them no attention as he turned up the crystal stairs. The design wasn't too impressive, he noted. There were small, almost invisible cracks every few steps where the repairs hadn't yet erased the near-daily destruction hurrying students caused. In the library, a few scatters of students wandered around, most older and probably those seventh-years preparing for the Tournament.

Draco whispered directions to a corner in the library where, folded neatly in a pretzel, Harry Potter was focused intently on a book in his hands.

He's changed, was Lucius's first thought.

And not for the better.

Harry had been, as a child, very tiny and very delicate. Lucius and the Death Eaters with him constantly worried that the boy would fall off a tree and break something. As a child, Harry had been thinned down from hours of nonstop outdoor activity, always curious, never losing his childish wonder of everything. That wonder was a key element in his easy learning of magic: Harry was curious, and instead of shielding him until he came into what was considered proper age, both his parents and his friends eagerly handed him everything he wanted. There had also been a smile on Harry's face, always, bright and wide. He'd never frowned, he'd never looked angry. Harry had never been unhappy.

At least, Lucius amended to himself, Harry had never been angry until his parents started habitually abandoning him.

Seeing him, seeing the change wrought, nearly made Lucius step back in surprise. Surprise and anger. 'What happened to you, child?' he silently asked, looking over this stranger he'd helped raise to teenhood. 'What did they do to you?'

Now, Harry was still thin and lean, but dangerously so-- and sitting in the chair like that reminded Lucius of a snake, curled and waiting for some agitator to attack. The boy's face was still sun-kissed, but now there was no smile. There was no expression whatsoever.

It was disconcerting, Lucius had to admit, looking at a stranger and seeing traces of a familiar friend in that stranger's face. Absently, Lucius noted that the robes Harry wore were too large, slipping off his bony shoulders. 'What happened to you?' he asked again, angrily.

Harry was sad. A touch more than sad, really, an emotion bordering on serious depression.

It should have been obvious to everyone, Lucius decided. Anyone who had known Harry. When he was happy, his smile was contagious. When he was angry, his anger was hurtful to watch. And when he was sad, he withdrew into himself to the point of being completely separated from everything. 'What happened?'

"He looks stupid," Draco commented bitingly from his side, nearly shocking Lucius. When he turned and stared at his son, Draco shrugged uneasily. "Well, he does, father. How long has he been reading that page? His eyes aren't even focused. He's slouching into the chair, and his hair is everywhere."

Lucius calmly turned to look again at Harry, seeing beyond the simply emotional state to how Harry was physically. Thin, yes, untidy still. Slouching? Perhaps? Unfocused... Lucius narrowed his eyes. Yes, unfocused. "He isn't reading," Lucius determined softly. "Not that book, at least."

"What?" Draco tipped his head to the side, an eyebrow raised.

There it was. Lucius pointed out where Harry's fingers were held slightly above the book's covers, leaving about an inch of space. "He's hidden a book in plain sight," Lucius explained quietly. "I wouldn't doubt that the boy walked into the Forbidden Section and brought a book out to read." He gave Draco a hard look. "Perhaps this will give you a reason to look harder in the future."

It was proof. Reading forbidden books? Lucius watched narrowly as Harry apparently flicked a thumb for no apparent reason, barely catching a flicker of shadow as some invisible page was turned. It was a sign that Harry hadn't been broken. Five years in constant contact with the Ministry and still breaking rules? Harry probably needed only a hand to pull him from his hole before he...

What? Before he what? Replaced the Dark Lord?

The thought didn't seem too absurd. In fact, as Lucius quietly dwelt on it, the idea seemed downright sane. Who else could replace the power vacuum Voldemort left but one born and bathed in Death Eater principles? He looked now at the thinned youth sitting feet away in a corner reading an invisible book. Lucius had been in charge of raising Harry, and he knew Harry's every thought. The boy was like a second son. With only a little more teaching, Harry could likely surpass those twice, even thrice his age. Who better to end his education than the one who began it?

Lucius decided it then. Harry Potter would replace Lord Voldemort, maybe in as little as a year's time. It would be ridiculously easy. It would be enjoyable. And, when Harry rose as the new Dark Lord, Lucius would be there behind him and above him.

Draco was looking too thoughtful. Left alone, his son could work out his plan, so Lucius quietly whispered, "More intelligent than you guessed?"

Draco gave a start, and Lucius watched, the predator working out a plan. "He will be more powerful than you by the year's end, I imagine, if it isn't so already." Of course Harry was. Harry was going to be the most powerful Dark Lord in history.

"Perhaps," Draco allowed after a long moment, voice tight at the surrender.

"If the boy's allowed to continue his company with that mudblood," Lucius murmured as if announcing a thought. He watched Draco tense up at what that possibility could cause.

"It would be disastrous," his son finished slowly, turning to look at Lucius with shrewd understanding.

"But if someone else were to become his... friend..." Lucius straightened and started from the library, leaving Draco behind. His son didn't catch up with him until he'd left the building, and then Draco had a speculative look in his eyes. Lucius didn't say anything for a moment, then he looked up to see that the sun had traveled a bit across the sky.

He was immediately reminded of the many other responsibilities waiting on him, and reluctantly he informed Draco that another meeting with the governors was coming up. "I will be busy even afterwards, enough so that I doubt I will take dinner with you. There will be little time left for me until at least Friday, when the governors are leaving. By then I hope you will find yourself new company." Draco's face darkened quickly before his expression cleared again.

"I hope you have a good time, father," Draco stiffly replied.

Lucius rounded on his son. "Be careful with Potter," he warned. "The boy knows as much as you do in certain areas of magic." Draco looked away sulkily, but Lucius didn't care. A low worry was bothering him. If Draco ruined his plans, turned Harry against him somehow...

A risk to be taken. If Draco succeeded in becoming Harry's friend, the possibilities in that were endless.

"Friday, the anti-apparation barriers will be lifted from the school," Lucius continued calmly. "They will be gone most of the day, as many governors leave at different time. Bring Potter to me. I will be waiting in the clock tower after breakfast. Oh, and Draco," his son had turned to leave and now paused impatiently, "tell your companions that the next time they wish to start a duel, they should do so in an place where there are no witnesses."

*

The middle of the day came and went, and soon Ron was heading towards the giant Quidditch pitch, broom in hand with an excited light in his eyes. Hermione took one sidelong glance and rolled her eyes, turning to whisper into Ginny's ear that either her boyfriend was having the time of his life, of he was going insane.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "I heard that," he said nonchalantly, still grinning. He twirled his broom, realizing too late that the wooden handle was too thick to spin easily. The broom did a foppish twirl before swinging downward, forcing the teen to half-lunge and catch it inches from the ground. Going red at the girls' giggles, Ron took the dignified route and pretended that nothing had happened as he securely held the broom under one arm. "Erm..."

"Right." Hermione smiled warmly, looping fingers through his. "That was very slick. Exemplary."

"Nice spin, Ron!" another friend called out from behind. "You meant to drop that broom, right?"

It was almost four, and whichever school had held practices earlier were just beginning to trudge back, faces shining exuberantly. Hermione tried to catch a look at the chosen school team, but the foreign students jealously hid their chosen seven behind a wall of moving bodies. She wasn't the only one trying to get a quick peek; many other Hogwarts students were staring shamelessly at the passing school, loudly talking and pointing and basically making a scene to which this other school bristled at and walked faster.

'First years,' the witch thought irritably, overlooking the fact that the Weasley twins were among the ones making the most fuss.

"Hey," Ron started, "who do you thinks on their team?"

"Not you too!" Hermione rounded on him. "Let's leave all the speculation until Saturday, all right?" Ron gave a half-shrug, a quirky grin suggesting that he thought Hermione was the one getting too riled. She folded her arms across her chest, intent on giving him a piece of her mind, but the Hogwarts crowd pushed her own impatiently and she was forced to keep pace until everyone started slowly arriving at the pitch.

"You think I have a chance?" a younger year asked to no one in particular, sweating thickly. Her neighbor gave her a helpless look and shook a no. Another group passed, whispering softly short phrases of some broom techniques that were certain to be impressive.

"Attention, can I have your attention please?" Hermione turned to see Madam Hooch floating slightly above the ground, hair as eccentrically spiked as always. Magically, her voice was strengthened to gain everyone's attention. "Thank you very much. Now, we only have an hour, so hop to it." She waved a hand for emphasis. "Everyone trying out for the team, brooms up. All else, it's up to you to chose teams."

"That's for me," Ron murmured quietly, mounting his broom. "Wish me luck."

Hermione shook her head. Beside her, Ginny asked, "Do you think he has any chance?"

"As Seeker? Not a chance, at least not with Harry in the air. You saw him fly before we left Hogwarts, right?"

Ginny shook her head reluctantly. "No, I was inside. But I heard he flies brilliantly!"

Nodding wisely, Hermione confirmed that this was the truth. She began to look around. "Except," the girl began hesitantly, "except I don't see Harry anywhere."

"Well, there are a lot of people here," Ginny pointed out lazily, stretching an arm. "You probably won't catch sight of him until he's in the air."

"Right." Still, she kept her search up.

Ginny perked up. "Look, there goes Ron! HEY, RON! Deaf as anything. RON! HELLO? Well, he's flying goodly enough right now, but that Ravenclaw Seeker's better-- RON, YOU BETTER GET-- too late. They've already sent him down."

From the skies of flyers, dribbles of beaten rivals floated down dejectedly and Ron was one of them. His wildly excited look was replaced by mild gloom at being knocked out of the trials, but he still smiled at seeing the two witches. "See Harry yet?" he called down as he landed. "I told everyone to watch out when he starts flying. Think I intimidated one or two-"

"_You_ didn't see Harry?" Hermione blurted out, feeling a little uneasy. "Hooch already said that all flyers needed to be in the air. Do you think he doesn't want to play?"

"Wouldn't know why not. Near everyone would kill to fly like he does."

"If he isn't in the air by now, then he's probably not going to play," Ginny informed them. "Maybe he doesn't like to play Quidditch."

Ron looked flabbergasted. "Why wouldn't he?"

The three thought about this for awhile, Ginny occasionally looking up to judge the participating flyers and Hermione concentrating on when she'd last seen Harry, while Ron merely pondered exactly what Harry's problem was. Not wanting to play Quidditch? Unheard of!

Hermione clicked her fingers. "I've got it! Fred said Harry was in the library, right?"

"George," Ron corrected absently. "Listen, I think that maybe he didn't hear this morning about the competition. Why else wouldn't he have shown up? Harry's got to love Quidditch."

"Geez," Ginny breathed angrily. "They'd better not let those Slytherin beaters play. We'd foul out of the game."

Hermione glared. "Are you two even listening?" She huffed for a moment, then crossed her arms again. "Right then, you two have a good time with your games. I'm going to go see if everything's all right with Harry."

Ron gave her a blank look. "Did you say something?" Ginny blinked once, then her attention was snared by a particularly crude broom maneuver preformed in the air.

Throwing her hands in the air, Hermione stalked off. The Quidditch pitch was some ways away from the school buildings, so by the time she reached the library she'd cooled down enough not to be physically frightening. Opening the doors to the Great Hall, the witch daintily climbed crystal steps to the second-floor library, trying not to look down. There weren't many students inside on this beautiful day, which made her quick search through the library much easier. However, her quick sweep turned up no scarred-forehead Gryffindor hiding behind a pile of books.

Hermione let out a deep breath of frustration and turned to go when she caught sight of a Hogwarts student leaving the library. "Malfoy?" she whispered, wonderingly.

The blond Slytherin, looking just as frustrated as Hermione felt, was storming down the crystal stairs with enough force that, for a moment, Hermione could picture the thin crystal cracking and breaking, taking the whole library down. Shivering at the mental image, she quickly made way to the stairs, pausing to watch where the Slytherin was heading. Malfoy, lips moving with some low mutter, continued his storming out the doors, leaving her free to follow.

She gave the library one last look. Harry wasn't in there, but maybe Malfoy knew something. After all, the Slytherin had been asking after Harry. Malfoy was rarely in any library that Hermione knew of; the Slytherin's purpose here had to be looking for the same person as Hermione.

She slipped down the stairs and was opening the door when she froze, hearing an angry conversation just outside the building:

"Well?"

"... No, we didn't find him."

"Really?" The menace in that voice sent a chill down Hermione's back. "How hard did you look?"

"Draco, we looked everywhere! There was no sign of him."

No question of who "he" was, Hermione decided darkly. The question was now, what did Malfoy want with Harry? She bravely threw open the doors to the building, getting some satisfaction at the dismayed expression on Malfoy's face. The boy he was yelling at, Zabini, froze with a sniveling face. "Well, hello Malfoy," Hermione greeted with insincere warmness, "what are you doing out here?"

Malfoy grimaced, then glared at Zabini, a look that sent the boy scuttling off. The Slytherin arrogantly turned to face her, grimace turned into a sneer. "Granger," he said, "I didn't know you were brave enough to come looking for me alone."

Hermione's fake smile froze. "Bravery's a Gryffindor quality, remember? Just like how all Slytherins are cowards."

"You weren't so brave when you met my father," Malfoy reminded disdainfully, as if she was beneath his notice.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. When the Slytherin turned to walk away, she bit out, "What is it, exactly, that you want to talk about with Harry? I mean, it's not all that usual to see a Slytherin as idiotic as you are wanting to talk with a Gryffindor, especially considering who Harry is."

Malfoy had paused at Harry's name, and when she stopped talking he turned to give her a frigid sneer. "Why on earth would I tell a mudblood like you?" he asked, so simply that his words were like a slap. It was as if he truly and honestly believed that bloodlines determined the person.

But the insult was common and Hermione didn't even blink at it. "I'm looking for him, too," she chanced, unsure but determined to find Harry any way possible. "Really, all I know is that he was in the library earlier, but that was hours ago and he must have left. I was going to check the dormitory, but I assume you already looked there and found nothing. Right now, I'd guess that either he's walking around in the gardens we passed through, or maybe he's just at the Quidditch pitch with everyone else."

Half-turned, the Slytherin seemed to be considering her words with more care than she'd give him credit for. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked after a moment. "I might not even be looking for Potter. I might even know where he is."

"But you don't," said Hermione stormily, "and seeing as how we're both concerned for him, it's best we work together for a while, try to see if both of us can dig up something."

The Slytherin's nose wrinkled up in disgust. "Work with you?" he repeated. "A mudblood?"

Having had enough, Hermione let out a noise in the back of her throat. "Honestly," she declared angrily, "is that all that matters to you? Yes, I'm Muggle-born. Yes, I had no idea any of this magical world existed until five years ago. But that doesn't mean I'm an idiot. I'm... I'm smarter than you Malfoy, I've gotten higher marks than practically every other student." She pointed a finger at him. "Even though I'm Muggle-born, doesn't mean I'm inherently inferior. Besides-"

But Malfoy lifted up his hands in a gesture for silence, and Hermione rather angrily slowed off to a stop. The boy seemed as if he was waiting for something, but after a moment passed, he reluctantly turned to look her in the eye. "What can be so important about Potter that you'd willingly try to work with me in finding him?" he asked, the question drawing from his lips as if painful.

"We all do things we have to, even if we don't want to," Hermione bit back, unable to help the haughtiness in her voice. When Malfoy's face began to freeze over, she added, "Besides, I could ask you the same thing. What do you want with Harry? You certainly haven't tried to be his friend, and unless I missed something, he isn't yours."

"Why don't we leave it at that, Granger," Draco suggested dryly. "We're both looking for Potter, and neither of us want to admit why." Before she could answer, Malfoy fully turned and began to walk away.

Hermione glared angrily, wishing irrationally for one minute that the clock tower would suddenly crumble and hide Malfoy's arrogant face forever, when the Slytherin calmly called back to her, "I did check the dormitories, or had them checked at least. And there's no point in wasting time walking through those gardens. If Potter was there, I'm certain someone would have found him by now."

She felt a mixture of relief and amazement. Malfoy was willing to work together? The mere thought caused her to swallow, suspicions raised, but she hurried to catch up. The last part of his sentence bothered her, and she asked, "Someone? Exactly how many people are looking for Harry?"

The Slytherin shrugged carelessly, directing their path towards the dormitories despite what he's just said about having found no sign of Harry there. "A few of the professors noted his absence. And the Aurors, of course." After a short pause, he admitted, "At least, I suppose they would be. Rumor has it that the Aurors were given a special assignment to watch Potter closely while he was here."

Hermione's nose wrinkled. "I'm sure they weren't too happy about that," she commented sarcastically. The conversation stopped, an awkward pause as the two uncomfortably eyed each other out of the corner of their eyes. She finally cleared her throat. "Well, where are we going to look now?"

Malfoy's forehead furrowed and he stopped walking to stare at her. "Where? Why are you asking me? It seems like I've already done most of your work for you. Time enough for you to begin coming up with ideas where the Potter brother is hiding."

'Great,' Hermione thought darkly. "Um... have you asked any of the professors?"

His rolled eyes did nothing to help her mood. "Of course not," was his sardonic reply. "The thought never crossed my mind. Why in the world would some professor know where a student was?"

"That's not what I meant," Hermione argued vehemently, glare back on. "All I meant was, with all the students touring around France, maybe Harry went with a group that hasn't come back yet. McGonagall would have a list of every Gryffindor traveling around, and so would Dumbledore." At his blank expression, she went on to say, "Did you already ask them?"

"Why would I be speaking to the Head of Gryffindor?" Malfoy shot back, though his tone was a bit weak.

This time, she rolled her eyes. "Do you have to be such a Slytherin?" she demanded huffily, beginning to walk again. "Just because she's the Head of Gryffindor doesn't mean she's biased towards us. If anything, it's the other way around. McGonagall practically lives on disciplining us Gryffindors." She had a quick insight, and carefully threw a look towards the boy beside her. "Which professors would you have spoken to? No one else would have a list of Gryffindors."

Malfoy didn't say anything, his face a cold mask of indignity.

As they walked, Hermione burst out into tickled laughter. "You asked Snape, didn't you!" His face became colder, and Hermione couldn't help raising her eyebrows. "Why would Snape have anything to do with Harry-"

"Are you quite finished?" he asked, voice chilled.

"I'll stop," she answered dryly, eyes twinkling still. Another minute or so passed in silence, her trying not to laugh, when Hermione finally gave in again and said, "So, let's go ask McGonagall about that list. Everyone's still out on the Quidditch pitch, so we might as well head out there."

Without saying a word, Malfoy changed directions, and the brisk walk back to the pitch was spent with no conversation whatsoever. Upon arriving, Hermione sought out McGonagall while Malfoy brooded impatiently at the edge of her vision. Unfortunately, the headmistress could only shake her, telling Hermione that all such lists had already been looked, with each student checked in. Harry had not gone out anywhere, had not gone with anyone. When Hermione informed Malfoy, the Slytherin narrowed his eyes and muttered about wasted time.

Fuming, Hermione opened her mouth to deliver an ultimatum. The only thing that stopped her was a first-year Hufflepuff, walking by on chance, who overheard their conversation. The girl looked up at Hermione with a bright smile, saying, "You want to know where Harry is?" She pointed off towards distant mountain peaks. "I saw him a couple of hours ago flying that way on his broom. He said he wanted to take a walk." With a little frown of concentration, the young girl shrugged. "As far as I know, he hasn't come back yet. Isn't that right?"

The little girl's friends all nodded wisely, one of them motioning to the lowering sun. "It's strange, too. Don't you think he'd worry about missing dinner?"

*

Forest always holds to itself an ambiguity. Its sublime beauty of green nature and flowering buds crosses with a looming dimension of unseen danger. Grace came to odds against warning, splendor against a fear of the unknown.

The trees came in vast arrays, some beginning a long growth and some already towering towards the sun. Ferns and bushes clawed at these stumps like little children around the waist of a mother. Weeds fought for domination above all, villains, seeking to steal from the life of one tree after another. Amid the battlefield, flowers sprouted with unchecked growth, blooms of color to dazzle the sight but so inappropriately placed that it seemed the buds deliberately (or perhaps naively) sat themselves in the path of all forest animals.

French air called for thick humidity, and in the heavy breath of air millions of insects found habitations. Butterflies and bees commonly scattered the scenery alongside beetles and many-legged creepers. The area filled to the calls of not only warm-blooded creatures, but also to the music of chirps, hums, and other echoes from the bug kingdom. Spider webs held as natural dream catchers, dripping of dew and silvery waste. Crickets held key to an eternal forest note.

Alive, four-legged beasts walked the sodden ground, keeping course to instinct. Deer browsed the sparse grass that happened to burst through fallen leaves like unfailing champions. Branches were nibbled from and leafy bushes as well. Mighty cats stalked prey alongside their doggish counterparts. Rabbits and hares lived abreast of countless other mammals. 

And other life prevailed. 

In the stream, fish flew the currents with the water world. Snakes bled their colors in the dark spaces. Birds heralded each passing moment.

A black-tipped owl hooted in the great symphony, eyes of series contemplation as she watched movement far down from her lofty perch. The sound sent a pack of squeaking mice running for sanctuary and a hareling pressed itself low against the ground, long ears quivering with the threat. But her noise wasn't the warning of a hunter this day. Below, the object of her harsh scrutiny ignored the outcry, indifferent to her spoken cautions. She hooted again, then reluctantly took flight as her charge threatened to leave her piercing view. A few powerful wing strokes cut the owl's height by half while bringing her back to a decent distance from the boy-creature she watched, the boy-creature who paid no attention to her series of irritated cuckooing.

It was too beautiful a day to waste in either ancient study or stiff caution. He discarded the owl's bird-cry out of a desire to be allowed the simple freedom of carefree adventure, not because he discarded the warning itself. To acknowledge the owl's worry was to acknowledge the need for worry as well, to be burdened down by that worry.

His step was balanced. The ground floor, mostly fallen trees rotten and grounded down into sod with occasional quickening of grass, imprinted footsteps that made little disturbance. Flowers were delicately stepped over, tree sprouts were left to grow tall. He made his path through the forest with an unconscious care of the smaller life around him. Even heavy branches came in no danger of being snapped; he gently eased a trail beneath the low limbs, feet watching for other plant life hidden in the shade.

The trodden path of human feet stomped unkindly into the earth had long since been abandoned. _That_ path brought no adventures or discovery, only the dulled view of a forest worn down by callous human attendance. Litter scattered whatever beauty hadn't been erased, litter of broken branches and torn leaves and plucked flowers. That path was a simplified version of nature, tamed for humanity's peace of mind, to be walked once and then utterly forgotten.

Deer trails toured the forest. Scant signs gave deep meanings away from the abuse of human presence. Chirps lent sound a quality of dizziness, as if one were surrounded by a nature whose only wish was to please.

He viewed the unaltered spider webs and butterfly cocoons with pleasure. 

What sunlight broke through the heavy tree cover became then broken into dazzling rainbows in the darkness. A deer's silhouette walked into sight, shaded under a shadow's tract as it held wary sentry duty, its family soon joining it. The deer's graceful frolicking contained a joy for life and an ever-present knowledge of danger that left him feeling helpless to disturb. He held perfectly still as the small herd walked closer, some playfully butting heads as others grazed demurely. When they caught scent and drifted away, they left him breathless.

Animals instinctively avoided him, but their fears did not upset him. The peace of the woods alone calmed his soul, speaking peace into his ear, easing his body into a state of relaxation that he rarely allowed. Human thoughts and worries drifted away as the breeze fingered his hair. Stress was leeched with the passing of high clouds. In solitude, the sounds of the environment were lullabies to sing him to sleep.

But his eyes would not close. Despite the soft serenity of this place, he never doubted his continued danger. Like the deer, he didn't forget that even as peaceful as the earth was now, that same being that breed peace also created havoc. Forest was alive and skinned with danger, an element that sharpened the feeling of life. He wasn't angry or frightened of the dark possibilities. Without danger, the woods would become flavorless, as evident in the man-made trail's blandness.

Minutes after the deer herd's departure, a slinking feline predator came into sight, lazily prowling the same direction of hoofed prey. It nosed the ground disinterestedly, obviously not pressed to hunger as it turned away to gleefully stretch out impressive muscle. The owl's hoot gave the hunter a moment's pause, reminding him of the house cat enticed by a caged robin, but the cat's laziness refused to be spurted into tree-climbing madness. The owl could stay comfortably perched.

Soon, the feline came upon his curious scent. Where the deer turned cautious and fled, the giant cat turned curious and tread closer. Above, birds called out again, feathers ruffling up in worry, but he was struck by a keen sense of awe and didn't move. Deep and other mellow creatures were almost common-sight to him, but predators always were rare.

The cat's face came closer. Its eyes were yellow, pupils dilated to see into shadow. Footfalls rang heavily and sure, with tanned fur snaglessly gliding through the thorn thicket he thought to take a rest in. From its throat came a low growl, continuous and ominous.

As it reached him, he slipped further into the bush. His wand had been left in the school robes, next to the broom he flew on in. The broom had a tracking spell activated, a mind-pulling feeling in case he became lost. The lack of a weapon, however, meant nothing but a passing though as he pushed through the bush to clear ground. He left the cat to become entangled amid the thorns.

He walked onward, deeper into the woods, looking for his true self after having been caught up with strangers for so long. He felt wrung out, stressed and overexposed. Yet, as he walked lightly between the trees, startling birds into premature flight, he felt that his weariness had no cause. His tiredness seemed rooted not in activity, but in inactivity. Doing nothing to physically provoke his body had brought out the same reaction as doing too much. It was the only reason he could conceive.

Moss swallowed his footsteps as sod became rock. Tree variety thinned out with the gaining slope, and his breath quickened. The sounds of fast-flowing water trickled from beyond, warning for the inviting scene of a waterfall free of any disturbance. Far ahead, a stag froze in the act of taking a drink, staring at him. Green eyes leveled back and he steered away from the massive creature, leaving reassuring space. The stag shook its kingly head arrogantly, resuming its drinking. Satisfied, the stag gave him one last look before leaping away, going out of sight in a few long bounds.

The waterfall's noise covered his own entrance to the wild waters. The stream was actually a short width across, but what the lack in size was amply repaid in ferocity. Rapid currents swept clean even small pebbles, leaving only the largest of unmoving rock behind before surged down rough steeps of the fall.

A single boulder braved the heights of the cascading water. Its jutting form looked like a deformed hunchback prepared to tangle the heights and hump. Seeing it, he saw a true resting-place.

The owl's shrieks of alarm redoubled when, barefooted, he stepped into the angry water. He held against the current, shoes juggled about his neck like obscene weights and arms held out to the sides in a call for balance. A misstep, and likely he wouldn't have the time to reclaim footing before sliding off the waterfall down to the drumming of the rocks at the bottom of the ride.

Another step, and the water rose to nip his calves. Hissing, the clear liquid spat bubbles around him. 

Demonically, the currents grew faster. 

He held his balance steadily, calm and sure of his moves. The stream's quickness served his purpose; any rocks that might have stumbled him were cleared out, and the pureness of the water gave him clear warning of any obstacle. The boulder sat only a few steps away.

Step after step, he followed through design. Reaching the boulder, he climbed up holes warn in by the passing of water, wind, and time. His vantage point was inspiring. Standing, unafraid, he looked out at the untamed wilderness that held claim to him as his sanctuary. He let a deep breath of air, releasing pollution and bringing back in a fresh, cutting clearness.

*

It was late when he finally decided to head back. Not out of free will, but out of necessity. Unlike at the house, where he could stay out for a week without raising comment, everyone here expected him to (somehow) take part of the day's social events. One of those events was dinner, but seeing as he'd already missed the other two meals and the day was already late, he figured that had already been missed. Not that he really cared.

There was a conspicuous gap in his jeans, a hole cutting from his left knee down that was result of a bad encounter with some wild thorns. His right elbow throbbed from where he's bashed it against a tree in avoiding some sort of boar-like predator. And an unsightly bruise kissed his chin where he'd tripped into a trap of gnarled vines. But the most noticeable difference was his face: the shadows left over from the week before had practically disappeared, and he couldn't stop a soft grin of excitement from appearing on his face.

His owl had left on once during the whole afternoon for a quick flight at dinner, and now perched precariously on a shoulder, sharp eyes a guide into the oncoming night. On impulse, he raised a hand to gently stroke her feathers and the owl cooed, nuzzling him.

It would only be a little while longer before the sun set, he decided, judging by the sinking sun. 

He sat comfortably in the middle of a large valley. The empty space gave him clear view of all directions, so nothing could sneak up without warning. The shadows, however, were growing longer and larger, eating up light audaciously. Sighing with real regret, he stood with the owl launching upwards like a missile. As he started walking, the bird called out once before flying ahead, scouting out dangers.

There was a light weight in his head, something he'd managed to ignore for the past few hours. It was a tracking spell left to guide him back to the trail. After leaving the marked path, he'd hidden his broom and school robes (and with those, his wand) as a trailblazer in case he got lost. Now, that spell was his ticket back to Beauxbatons.

Five minutes later, he shook his head in exasperation. "This is taking too long," he muttered to himself with a little annoyance, having not realized how far from the trail he'd gone. Walking would take too long; by the time he got back to the school, someone would realize his absence. There was another way, he remembered with a little smile.

Concentrating, he closed his eyes. When they opened, the world was different. There was more detail, more feeling. He felt closer to the ground, to the earth--and not in the purely physical sense. The owl called out to him, a greeting from one creature of the air to one creature of the earth. He nodded his head once in acknowledgement, then started out on a fast trot towards the manmade trail, padded hooves hardly making any noise at all.

*

The sun was going down, slowly being replaced by a rising moon of soft intensity. Practices had been held, teams drawn, and most of the students were heading to bed in time to make the midnight curfew. Only a few older teenagers were up, worrying and stressing about the Tournament. Only a few older teenagers, and a mob squad of Aurors.

They searched high and low, looking everywhere but finding no trace of the missing teen. And they were getting nervous. This boy had high connections. If he was lost on their first day... the ramifications were not good.

Ever since news had spread about Harry Potter's walk in the woods, everyone who knew about it had become frantic with worry. Madam Maxine nearly fainted, her giant hands pressing against pale cheeks as she announced, "_Mon dieu_. Ze childr'n, were zey not told? Ze forest, forbidden, jus' az Hogwarts! It iz dangerous!"

Only one piece of news was found.

Around eleven-thirty, an Auror walked into the Hogwarts apartment. "We found these," the Auror reluctantly allowed. Dangling from his hands were the abandoned items: school robes, broom, and wand. With a thoughtful shake of his head, the wizard continued: "Apparently, when Potter took off towards the forests, he veered off the main trail and flew directly into the more dangerous parts of the woods."

On the floor above, completely encircling the banisters while trying to stay out of sight, Hogwarts students lined up to hear what was going on. After practice, the majority of them had only heard bits and pieces of information regarding a missing student. At the name 'Potter,' a low murmur of amazement rose from them, quiet but deeply wondering.

Below, Professor McGonagall made a noise deep in her throat that sounded like a mixture of anger and despair. She swallowed, the lines of her face instantly standing out, harsh against pale skin. Alastor Moody, the Auror/professor left in charge while Dumbledore was gone, looked over to her with an expression of slight worry, but she waved him away. All the other professors had been given leave to go, resting in comfortable placements and free from the stress of a missing student.

The Auror cleared his throat awkwardly. Undoubtedly, if anything went wrong, he would be the one to blame. A certain (retired) Auror would definitely not be too happy, and if that wasn't enough "Mad-Eye" Moody was here to personally intimidate all the courage out of him. The only good news was that Moody had taken out his magical eye, letting it soak in a glass of water after one of the students' pranks had hit the professor in the face. A motionless glass eye was better than some constantly moving "Luckily, there is no sign of a struggle, or any other presence for that matter. Potter willingly flew in, and then willingly threw off his items."

The look on McGonagall's face inspired him to add, "Of course, we don't know for sure. As the older brother of Leonard Potter, Harry would be a very fetching hostage. And there's always the possibility of some abstract control over the boy-"

"Oh really? I thought for an instant you were accusing one of _my students of simply running off_--No, I will _not_ be still, Alastor_!_" Practically spitting, McGonagall threw off all hands and stomped away, glaring but very pale.

The Auror was now sweating lightly, realizing that aside from the threat of Auror Moody, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall could likely do him some harm if she was provoked. He hurried to finish off. "Yes, well, in any case, we'll have searchers out first thing in the morning."

From her corner, McGonagall took in an angry breath, and the Auror rattled on, "We would start earlier, but as Madam Maxine already said, the forest in very dangerous. Beauxbatons was created here in the hopes that all the dangers would keep trespassers away. Enough uncalculated risks, and our men will be the ones needing rescue by dawn!"

Moody nodded, but his expression wasn't one of agreement. "That's right," the professor commented waspishly, "I'd forgotten how much trouble you newbies get into. Trained wizards and witches?" He snorted. "More like a bunch of headless chickens, if you ask me. Well, if there's any luck, Potter'll survive until morning. If not, then you boys and girls can get your wands and play scavenger hunt to pick up all the pieces."

The Auror's mouth snapped shut audibly.

Having composed herself, and an idea of rescue, McGonagall shortly asked, "Is that all?"

Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and having no idea of how to save himself, the Auror angrily shook his head. He was almost to the door when McGonagall cleared her throat.

"The broom, please," she demanded, hand outstretched, "as well as the other items."

Handing them over triggered memory. "There is one last bit," the Ministry wizard added, paused by the door. "My analyst found some magic working on that broom. It faded away once we flew off, but it was a sort of tracking spell."

"Thank you," McGonagall bit out before slamming the door shut. She steamed out a dark breath of air, eyes lit up with anger. "That... that..."

"We better just stay calm, Minerva," Moody advised. He picked up Harry's lost items, placing them down on a chair, then walked over to where his eye was rotating in its glass container. He plucked out his regular glass eye and carelessly threw it over his shoulder where it disappeared with a pop. His magical eye fit back into its socket perfectly, and Moody gave a little sigh of relaxation, his eye spinning around. It focused on something behind the door, and the Auror gave a little start.

At first, McGonagall paid no heed. She huffed about the room like a red-spotted bull, murmuring beneath her breath little phrases that didn't carry. But after a few minutes, she finally leaned her head against the cool door.

"What now, Alastor?" she muttered. "That boy could be anywhere."

"Anywhere?" The Auror snorted, sounding surprisingly amused as he looked at the door--or through it. "Don't get your hopes up, yet. I haven't met a Potter yet who was willing to do anything more than a little bending of the rules. You're going to want to start planning what to do with him when he gets here."

McGonagall was hung up on his words. When Moody began pacing the floor, muttering ideas about punishment, she asked, "When he gets here? Do you know where he is?"

The old Auror shook his head, frowning. "Of course I do! What kind of Auror do you think I am? By the way, you better move. Take a step back at least."

The door opened as if rehearsed just as McGonagall took a surprised step away from it, and in the way stood a slightly puzzled Harry. The teenager blinked, leaning back a step as McGonagall rushed in to crowd, but was then pushed back inside as the Auror, just left, returned to report one last issue concerning a change in plans. He'd been walking back to where the Aurors were staying, and had guiltily decided that no search could wait, only to find that the missing teen had returned.

Witch and wizard, both shocked by the untimely turn-up, practically carried the boy in, talking fast enough to blur words together. High above and still crowding, the students exchanged dumbfounded looks, shrugged, and listened on. Questions were thrown at him without pause for answer. Moody drifted back as Harry was slammed into a chair and forced down, watching the scene with shadowed eyes. 

An attempt to rise up was squashed. An attempt to talk was ignored. Annoyed and tired, Harry slipped into the back of the chair and did as he did during fights with Sirius when Leo was witness: stare at nothing, refuse to speak, and concentrate on higher matters with no regard to raised voices. He wondered what the time was, if Hedwig was still in the forest, what Leo was doing, and if his brother was sate, wondered why no one else saw all the students wide awake in the floors above.

Some of those students realized that he was watching them with a gasp. They either scurried back as if frightened, or looked down with greater resolved to watch the conflict.

Seeing them was like seeing a double-image: superimposed over the curious students was a memory of Leo, peering down in wonder from the stairway as Harry fought with Sirius.

"Mister Potter, are you even listening?"

The question snapped his lagged attention, and with a tone he knew infuriated Sirius, Harry smartly replied, "Not a word. In fact, I stopped listening right about the part where you said I was in trouble." He paused to let the words sink in, then added with biting sarcasm, "Certainly I missed nothing of importance." The day had been boring and irritating and altogether too long for his liking. Baiting professors and Aurors seemed like an entertaining thing to do, something to take his mind off of how uncomfortable he was.

McGonagall's mouth dropped open. Always, her position afforded her a certain amount of unshakable respect. The daughter of a high-class family with a smart education behind her, few things had been able to upset her dignity in her entire life--never outright rudeness, never from one of her own students!

The Auror glared, and Harry glared back. "I know for a fact that _I've_ broken no rules," Harry continued, voice like coiled steel with a will to get revenge for unwanted contact with an Auror. "If my mode of transportation hadn't been unlawfully confiscated, I would have arrived precisely on time."

The Auror opened his mouth to speak, and Harry cut him off, taking a dark enjoyment out of making the white-robed wizard squirm. A thought occurred to him, distasteful and completely against his person, but Harry used it. "My godfather will hear of this. He specifically advised me to write him, especially about the conduct of stationed Aurors." Lazily, Harry looked away, asking, "For the letter's sake, what was your name again? I guarantee you, my godfather will wish you visit you in person."

Whether or not a name was given, Harry was finished with the Auror. Even dealing with him so slightly left the teenager feeling queasy. He stood, facing the stairway. One obstacle still blocked him.

"You want these back?" Moody held up the discarded broom and wand. "I'm betting you're going to need them, sooner or later."

With stiff formality, Harry took his possessions. "Thank you, professor," he said after a moment, pausing as if looking his things over. Inside, he took the pause to strengthen his courage.

Harry looked up into the magical eye and forced himself to be still. Head tipped forward in half-feigned respect, he said, "It's late and I'm tired." There was no response so Harry took free leave to head towards the stairs, ignoring McGonagall's choked fit of anger and the Auror's embarrassed exit. As he passed, however, Moody deftly placed a hand on his shoulders and spun him around, forcing a retrace of steps back to the chair.

"Why don't you just stick around a bit?" Moody had him seated before getting an answer. As soon as Harry sat down, he recoiled away from the Auror's hand. Moody didn't look the least bit put out. Instead, he fixed a grainy look on Harry. "You're going to want to eat something, 'specially since you missed lunch and dinner."

McGonagall wandered over as well, taking a seat further away as food suddenly appeared.

Unhungry and untrusting, Harry refused refreshment. "I not hungry, professor-"

"Don't try to lie to me." Moody rudely pointed out his roaming magical eye. "This thing has a sort of natural lie-detector on it. It can tell when you're lying and when you're hiding something." 

Harry settled back in his chair, resigning himself to an extended night. Outside, the clock tower rang out a single haunting bell toll.

"Since you're not going to eat, why don't we just get through this whole thing real quick. What do you say, Potter?" Harry looked up and found himself facing a clever intelligence. With no twinkle to soften like the headmaster's eyes, Moody's blue eyes looked like frigid ice hard as cool diamond, ready to chip away all defenses. His magical eye had turned to fix straight onto Harry, and the effect was unnerving. This was the man Death Eaters feared, and with good reason it seemed. 

Courage was resettled. Without blinking, Harry countered, "What's going on? Am I under questioning or something? I didn't do anything wrong."

"Sure you didn't," Moody scoffed. "This is just a discussion between a worried professor and his recently returned pupil. Certainly nothing out of the ordinary, considering the circumstances."

"Then I can leave at any time?" Harry challenged. Moody answered with a quick nod, but the Auror's expression seemed like a dare in itself. Leaning back into the seat, Harry bit back a retort. "Well then, let's make things easier," he agreed stiffly. "Ask away, Auror, and I will answer to the best of my abilities."

The title came out as a deliberate insult. Moody's face reddened for a minute, then the Auror reclaimed control of himself. "Sure, kid," he gruffly started, "but since I went through all the effort of calling up this food, why don't you eat something first? Wet your throat up some."

Harry stared back unblinkingly. "Time's precious. I'll skip the food."

"Oh come now!" McGonagall burst from her forgotten seat. Her tense expression betrayed stressed reaction from listening to the conversation. "The food isn't poisoned. There is no truth serum, or snake venom-"

"It's all right, Minerva. Potter here wasn't trying to say anything like that," Moody broke in, staring at Harry while his magical eye whirled around. Harry fought to keep his face still.

The effort was proving too much, and Harry purposely looked away to the deputy headmistress. Only then did he realize what she'd been saying, and the possibility of it all made his stomach clench up like a fist. Stupid, he thought to himself, trusting an Auror. "I'm... I'm certain that no Hogwarts professor would ever stoop so low," Harry assured aloud in false tones after a moment's hesitation. The food now seemed like tainted garbage leering up at him. Harry looked at McGonagall, expression strained. "I didn't mean to sound like I thought so." 

The crisp words seemed to remind the professor of recent rudeness because instead of reassuring her, he infuriated her. With a loud sniff, the witch stood. "I'll leave you to this, Alastor. If anyone here can handle this boy, it'll be you." She straightened her robes mechanically. "Besides, the students need checking up on. No doubt they've all run amuck in the dormitories, what with all the professors gone to bed and out of the way." Her words unleashed a thousand hurrying feet that only served to stiffen her expression as she hurried upstairs. Moody's eye whirled upwards in surprise, and his face cracked open in a wry grin.

Harry was left alone with the Auror. An odd phrase bothered his memories: '_If you're going to do something, do it with no witnesses_.' If Moody was to attack him, no one would know otherwise. Harry let a hand slide to the seat, searching for his wand. It had fallen to the cushions.

Moody wasn't blind. Both eyes turned and resettled on Harry. "You can leave that wand where it is, boy," the Auror suggested. "You're not going to get any use out of it tonight, unless you're expecting someone to bust in." At the suggestion, his magical eye whirled towards the door, the did a full circuit scout in a directions. "Unless you think I'm going to attack you. And I'm not up to beating up my students." 'Not now,' his blue eyes made to add. 'Not at the present time.'

It was scarcely reassuring, but rather than show fear, Harry resettled his hands. "Certainly not, Auror," he replied with false sincerity, still stressing the insult on the title.

"Good." Moody's face stayed stony this time, meaning that the Auror had picked up on Harry's plan on infuriating him. "Why don't we start by you telling me what happened today? And explain it to me like I'm a kid, so I understand it all."

Indignantly, Harry complied. He started with his narrative, keeping it short and simple, planning on skipping whatever detail that magical eye wouldn't pick up on. The time spent with the other school was told in a heartbeat; the outing in the forest seemed to span a single breath; in all the day, his stay in the library was fabricated as long-lasting and eternal. Years were spent searching through books for an interest, with the wood walk a sad alternative when no book could be found. In fact, the woods were empty and devoid of life, so much so that when Harry stupidly dropped his things for a stretch, sheer apathy erased the urge to pick up even his wand. He had been smart enough to leave a tracking spell on the broom in case he got lost, but that failed when the Aurors flew out of range. The remainder of the day was spent walking back, tired and cold and desperate for bed. Finished without a single interruption, Harry waited expectantly for response.

Moody was staring straight at him, his eyesight not having wavered once during the whole time. "Interesting day," Moody complimented after Harry finished.

Harry refused to comment.

The aged wizard stared at Harry a moment longer as if sizing him up. "Yea, a nice day. Of course, I'm just going to have to guess about all the stuff you left out, right?" He frowned angrily. "Stupid kid, weren't you listening? I told you, I know when you're trying to hide something."

"Hide!" Harry shot upright, furious. "I've told you the truth. Your turn to believe." The strike on his honesty was unacceptable.

"Oh, sure Potter, all that stuff really did happen. I got that point. What I'm talking about is all the stuff you left out--a lot, I'm guessing." Warning blue eyes dared Harry to deny the truth. "You better not leave anything out of your answers."

How long did Harry spend with this other school? The exact time wasn't known because he carried no watch. Take a guess. Maybe... maybe an hour, maybe twenty minutes--lost in thought, he had no way of knowing. Did Harry stay to hear the morning news? No, but that was because the Hogwarts students pretty much blocked out that announcement.

"Interesting," Moody mused. "You'll need to talk to one of those Weasley kids. They're going to have something to tell you." His eyes lit up with coarse humor. "In fact, some of your classmates might have a grudge against you right now."

Harry blinked at that in confusion, but didn't pursue the topic.

After hanging with the other schools, where did he go? First to a walk around the school for some fresh air, then to the dorms looking for someone he knew, and finally into retreat at the library for nearly the remainder of the day. What books did he read? A variety of titles.

"Trying to hide stuff isn't going to get you anywhere," Moody threatened. "Besides, kid, you promised to answer to the best of your abilities."

"Yes, but I didn't promise to answer every question," Harry pointed out sharply. "You're asking about the smallest facts, details from hours ago. How am I supposed to remember everything?"

"Then try to remember," the Auror suggested sarcastically.

Harry sighed and closed his eyes, tensed in a display of concentration. "A book on wild beasts, I think, and maybe something about muggle history in France."

"Muggle history?" Moody raised an eyebrow, looking seriously surprised. 

Harry stared back coldly. "My mother lived as a muggle when she was young. The stories she told me were very interesting, and I wondered if any of them were true."

"Ah..." The Auror's face was as blank as ever.

That all he could remember? Spending more time to dig through thought would be pointless, as all books were read in full view of other students. How long, with a guess, was spent in the library. Again, without a clock, even an estimate could be far off. Did he eat lunch? A little. And he wasn't -- No, he wasn't hungry. When did he leave the library? No idea. Didn't he pass the clock tower? Yes, but he hadn't been too concerned with seeing what time it was.

"You're avoiding time frames," the professor pointed out moodily.

Harry shrugged weakly. "Think what you want to think." He yawned, covering his mouth with a hand. "Excuse me."

"Sure. Just try to stay up a bit longer."

What did he do in the woods? Nothing really, walk around the place. Then why did he leave the public trail?

"Because it's dead," Harry bit out savagely. "There's no life out there at all."

Moody looked startled. "What in the world do you mean, 'dead'? That place is alive as any forest." Moody held up a hand, ticking off fingers. "You've got your deer, your trees, and your other animals. What else do you want?"

"Good and well," the teenager interrupted with a slice of bitterness, "but only if you like to see things caged up and tamed." His green eyes were aflame with passion. "The deer you saw were all does because no stag would lower himself to that!" Then, as if shocked with himself, Harry abruptly shut off and pushed deep into the cushions.

"Really?" Moody murmured. His eyebrows suddenly rose with understanding. From outside, two bells intoned, the noise coming from the clock tower. When the tones faded, Moody asked, "Did you see any, then?"

Harry didn't look up, but he did answer. "One. He was magnificent, of course."

"I'm sure he was, kid," the Auror echoed knowingly, leaning back in the sleep as if he, too, was getting tired of all the questions.

Hands clenched white, Harry dully said, "Stags never live close to humans. If... if I wanted to see him, I couldn't stay on the trail."

"What about the dangers, Potter?" Moody asked harshly. "These woods are just like the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts, forbidden. You think you stand any chance against some of the stuff in there? And it's not just nature, it's magic." His magical eye was spinning with agitation. "Not only that, you left your wand! What kind of protection do you think you've got? You can't just go around leaving your wand! Think, boy!"

The question brought up Harry's head, eyes narrowed in anger. Danger? Abruptly, memories of his childhood whirled through his head, memories of times far more dangerous than anything at Beauxbatons could be. What right did this Auror have in chiding him, in labeling things as "dangers"? Compared to his childhood, danger at this magical school was a laughable idea for him.

Aloud, Harry allowed anger to color his words. "I've lived with a werewolf for the part five years, Auror. At Remus's house, everything around is forest. I've hiked for weeks alone." He finished with "I can take care of myself."

Danger was in living with an Auror, in trusting in friends, in leaving a brother alone. He'd lived with danger. A walk through nature was nothing compared to everything else.

Moody stared at him a moment, piercingly, but nodded slowly. "I'm thinking that's it. Unless you got anything else to say?" the older wizard asked, suddenly sounding very old and very tired. When Harry shook his head, the Auror gestured towards the stairs. "Get to bed, Potter, and take your wand with you."

Harry left immediately, face composed and ready to sleep.

*

The whole of Gryffindor gathered against him. Pacing, lion-like in anger, the students gazed down on him with condemning stares. All eyes seemed to judge equally. Glaring insolently, Harry rejected the offered seat and stayed on his feet, emerald eyes brightly shining despite the late hour. A quick search around the room concluded that this was the standing grudge Moody spoke of. Even Ron and Hermione's friendliness seemed temporarily suspended.

He had glided onto the floor moments before, only to be completely surrounded. Exit was cut off, and his housemates had circled as if coming in for the kill. Leading them, an older teenage girl tensely repeated her order that Harry sit.

"I'm going to stay standing," Harry retorted, danger senses on fire. Absently, he wondered what he'd done to anger so many people.

The floor was becoming full of breathing, hateful bodies, too much for his comfort. On guard, Harry took an easy step forward and wasn't surprised when further movement was blocked by a line of hard-set faces. He stepped back to meet the same stony guard of students. The predictability of it all was amusing. Harry made to step left, dodging right at the last second, then mentally grinned at the disorganized shuffling his human box went through.

Frowning irritably, the teenage girl made an angry sound in the back of her throat and pushed away two of his guard. "Fine," she snapped at his rejection. "Stay standing. All the same to me." She pushed past him to sit in his chair, frown not wavering once. "In fact, standing makes this easier." Abruptly, her face went pale as all the blood rushed away.

"Where the _hell_ were you, Potter?"

The evening wasn't getting any better, and after the session with Moody, this treatment only served to further annoy him. Shortly, Harry answered, "I don't see how that's any of your concern."

"Actually, it is." The girl's grown deepened, a mutilation of her face. "In case you didn't know, as Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, it's my job to scout out all talent in Gryffindor house. You're a natural, Harry! Best flyer I've ever seen!" For some reason, she sounded vastly exasperated by his bored expression. "I haven't the slightest idea why you wouldn't want to play. With your talent..."

Harry raised an eyebrow, vaguely affronted by the girl's personal attack. "I don't see how my flying abilities are any of your concern," he said loftily, leaning on the back of his heels to relieve some of the pressure on his weary feet. He paused, quizzically watching the room's surprised reaction.

"You can't be serious!" one of the Weasley twins blurted out. The twin looked stunned. "Of course everyone's wondering about your flying skills."

"Don't you know?" another student jostled, incredulous.

"'Course he does," someone answered for Harry unsteadily. "I saw Potter listening this morning. He was standing right next to me."

Harry snorted, using the distraction to sneak by his human box. Hermione, however, had seen him leaving the room and sidled up beside him outside the door. The lights were dimmed, and no one else was around. "You do know what's going on, don't you Harry?" she asked politely, if a little cold.

"All I know," he replied deridingly with an equally polite tone, "is that I'm going to bed." He tipped his head forward slightly, wondering why Hermione was treating him so and yet not really curious about it. "Good night."

"Maybe you should sort everything out first," Hermione suggested lightly, still cold. She glared at him without actually glaring, then shrugged. The low lights played shadow games across her face, making her cheekbones stand out and her eyes sink into her face like dark pits. "I don't really think anyone's going to let you sleep without getting a few answers out of you first." From her expression, it was obvious that she was one of those people.

Turning slightly so he could still see her out of the corner of his eyes, Harry tilted his head back a degree, contemplating the ceiling, the fading lights. "I'm going to have to say that it's none of your business, Hermione," came his chilled answer. He was fed up with all the questions, with all the demands and assumptions. "I've already gone through a formal questioning with Professor Moody, and I'm not in the mood for going through an informal one."

There was a figure at the end of the hall, someone standing where the floor titled downwards into a stairway. Hermione hadn't seen the other person yet. Deciding to keep it that way, Harry took a step to completely fill her vision. "I'm going to leave now," he started, "because frankly, I don't feel safe in that room." When she opened her mouth to protest, he added, "I'll be back in the morning. Maybe by then, everything will have sorted itself out." He shrugged half-heartedly. "If not, then there's only a week until we're back at Hogwarts. We'll sort things out by then."

He glanced behind him; the figure was gone. Looking back at Hermione, he tipped his head forward again. "Goodnight, Hermione," he said once more, this time sincerely. "I'm sorry about all of this."

Then he turned and walked away.

*

After Harry left, Moody stayed sitting, He thought, fingers steepling in tune with human ideas. Finally, he shook his head, unable to figure out any of the questions the confrontation left him with. When McGonagall came down from her listening spot, Moody admitted bald fact: Harry Potter was layers of secrets unlikely to trust in anyone, and whatever the reason for his disappearance, it was going to stay unrevealed until someone gained his sure and fast trust. Until then, the often overlooked first son would remain antisocial and uninviting as well as unreachable by the professors who wanted to teach him.

"He's very clever," McGonagall admitted, looking pained by the fact. She was mentally reviewing all the times she'd confronted the boy, all the false assumptions she'd made about him, and after thinking a moment the witch sighed in regret. He was indeed very clever if he could outstrip Mad-Eye Moody in conversation, if he could force an Auror to yield. "I would have been lost in that conversation many times."

She paused for somber thought. "He used his parents' death as a... a playing card. Does that mean he doesn't care about them?"

"He cares about something," Moody explained, "something so important to him that those deaths don't measure up." His forehead wrinkled. "I'll find out what that is. It's the only way I'll ever understand that kid."

McGonagall was surprised. "The only way?" Her voice echoed through the empty room. "Breaching his privacy? You won't be doing him any favors, Alastor. Doing something like that will only make him hate you."

"Weren't you watching?" Moody countered, "Harry already does." His face clouded over, and there was a faint smile playing on his lips. "I wonder," the Auror/professor murmured so low that Minerva didn't catch it, "if it's because I'm an Auror."

"The only thing we can do is wait for Albus to return," she went on obliviously. "He was the one who held contact with the Potters all those years, and he keeps in close contact with Sirius. He'll know what to do here."

Moody gave her a bland look. "I think it's pretty obvious," he told her bluntly. "That kid needs to be watched all the time. But we can't have someone just trailing him around. If Potter caught on to it, he could probably slip around easy enough. We're just going to have to force him to stay with the rest of the students somehow."

McGonagall pressed her lips together, then slowly remembered, "The students were talking about his flying skills." She gave Moody a sketchy look. "But Potter wasn't there for the trials today. Would the other students allow him to simply play without flying for a position?"

"Don't give them the choice of it," Moody advised seriously, standing up and ready to head for bed. "Tomorrow, go and make sure Potter knows what he's going to be doing for the rest of the week. After we get back to Hogwarts, we'll get a more permanent way of keeping track of the little devil."

*

"Where are you going?"

Harry looked around curiously towards the voice. So, the person hadn't left. And his identity wasn't too surprising. But when Harry glanced towards the shadowed arch that Draco Malfoy was hiding under, he_ was_ surprised to realize that the Slytherin wasn't alone. There was a small group of them, all languidly leaning against the wall, all apparently waiting for this confrontation. He cocked his head, still feeling somewhat provoked by the episode with Hermione, still feeling somewhat reckless. "Out," came Harry's easy answer, said with no unease or fear of punishment for breaking curfew again.

"Really?" Malfoy drawled, and one of the girls leaning against him giggled, a deep and muffled noise that was strangely unsettling. Harry blinked, not quite sure what to make of the group. "Isn't there a rule against that?"

"What do you want?" Harry asked, cutting to the point. He was getting very tired.

Malfoy made a motion, and the Slytherins around him all started to move away and back up the stairs, all with clear reluctance. As she walked around him, the girl who'd made the noise stopped to stare Harry in the face. "Were you expelled?" she asked curtly, eyes glimmering with invidious interest.

"No," Harry replied simply, looking away from her shadowy face, keeping his eyes on Malfoy. The girl stayed there for a moment longer, trying to catch his eyesight, but finally walked away with a powdery shake of her head.

Again, he was left alone with a possible enemy. The last time Harry had faced Malfoy, it had been on the train ride a day ago, and the meeting hadn't been pleasant. Before Harry wondered too long about what Malfoy wanted, the Slytherin made a quick nod of his head. "I happen to be leaving, too," Malfoy shared, walking towards the door.

Harry watched for a moment, then moved to join him, walking outside at the same time. He glanced curiously at the Slytherin. "I thought you said it was against the rules?"

"There are always exceptions," Malfoy answered loftily, head held high in an obvious reference to himself. After a pause, he continued, " All the Boards have been invited to spend a week here before the Tournament starts. My father is one of the governors for Hogwarts, and he's invited me to spend this week in the governors' rooms instead of Hogwarts' dormitories." He smirked. "I'm sure you can guess which is the better choice."

Harry didn't answer. Being outside reminded him that he really had no place left to go. Besides, there were likely Aurors prowling the area, and if he was caught--especially after tonight's events!--there was no telling what would happen.

Malfoy was gazing at him unobtusely when Harry finally started paying attention to the boy, but then the Slytherin abruptly looked away, making such effort to look away that he might as well have been staring. Rather than make any comment on the matter, Harry let it slide, thoughts drifting back to plans for tonight's sleeping arrangement. His brain hurt. The day had lasted too long, and he felt like nothing would be better than simply collapsing against a bench or wall. In the matter of the subject, he was feeling drowsy.

Before he knew it, they'd reached a looming building, grandiose and beautiful and obviously built for visual affect. Malfoy casually noted that these were the apartments of the professors, headmasters, and visiting governors.

"Why don't you come up," Malfoy softly suggested, voice sounding greatly reasonable. "My father wanted to meet you, and this is as good a time as any. Besides, I'm sure he'll allow you to stay." Because he sounded so reasonable, Harry nodded wearily, hardly able to keep his eyes open anyway. He hid a yawn as Draco opened the doors, and blindly followed the Slytherin through a maze of stairways and doorframes. Blinking, Harry found himself moved from a dimly-lit outdoor environment to a brightly-lit suite, one decorated extensively and expensively. 

The shock of it erased all drowsiness from his mind, and sharply Harry looked around for an exit, dimly grasping the fact that he really had no idea where he was. Before he could begin to run away, a voice arrested his senses.

"Hello, Harry."

Harry didn't turn, didn't react at all. He froze.

"Draco, you may leave us." Faint footfalls and a door opening echoed through the room, evidence of someone's departure. Harry couldn't breath for a moment, and couldn't move even when another set of footsteps walked closer to him. Someone touched his shoulder, turning him around, and Harry saw a person whose face he never saw before.

The Death Eater looked like an older Draco Malfoy, which wasn't surprising due to the fact that the Death Eater was Malfoy's father. His features were rougher, squarer, more determined and more worn but definitely not rough. Mesmerized, Harry couldn't respond.

He realized that Malfoy Senior was talking, was saying something, but the only thing he heard was a loud roar in his ears of blood rushing to his head, of anger and fear, of everything else that he couldn't understand. Hungrily, disgustedly, Harry looked at the face of a man who'd been a friend, who'd been a traitor: white-blond hair, cold gray eyes, and smooth skin free of any visible worry. Forcibly, Harry tore his eyes off the man's face only to find himself studying the man's clothing, the man's stance and posture for little clues about the greater personality. Black, rich, expensive, lavish robes; a cane--for walking or intimidation or a symbol of wealth? Confident, powerful, arrogant.

Swallowing, Harry took a step backwards, and the Death Eater's mouth, which had been moving the whole time, stopped. "I, I don't believe it," Harry breathed, voice shaky and ready to fall apart. He was shaky and ready to fall apart. Wearily, warily, he brought a hand up to his forehead, rubbing at his scar where a bad headache was forming. Breathing badly, Harry took another step back, retreating and keeping his eyes down, scattering across the room, anywhere but the Death Eater's face.

"It's true, Harry," the man's voice insisted, blurting in over all the other noise in the quiet room. Unwittingly, Harry brought his eyes up and found himself trapped in the wizard's gaze. He couldn't move as the Death Eater took a step forward, cupping a hand around Harry's chin, delicately scrapping over a bruise. "Accept it."

Harry's eyes widened, and roughly he leaped away, turning away and sprinting towards an open arch, looking for a doorway. The Death Eater yelled something, but the words were lost as Harry fled to the other room. However, there was only one door and when Harry frantically reached to open it, his hands were jerked back. Some sort of force surrounded the doorknob, repelling him. Frustrated, Harry threw himself against the door, and was thrown backwards with equal force to land on the hard ground.

"Harry." The Death Eater had followed him.

Not looking up, Harry quietly demanded, "Let me out of here. Let me leave." He got no answer, and clenched his hands into fists, glaring at the ground. Slumping forward, Harry leaned his head against his knees, eyes closed and breathing rough. When someone touched his shoulders, he recoiled with a hiss. "Don't touch me!"

The Death Eater looked vaguely insulted, hurt, but Harry only allowed himself a quick glance before ripping his eyes back shut. He scrambled away with sightless eyes, throwing his body away from the Death Eater's. "Don't come near me."

"This is childish," the wizard chided. "I had believed you'd outgrown these tantrums."

The taunt was too much, and before he could stop himself, Harry had opened his eyes to glare up at the man. "Childish?" His voice was brittle.

The Death Eater nodded, expression schooled into a bored look as he summoned a chair to sit on. Harry refused to move, still glaring insolently towards the man he hated more than any Auror. His mind reeled, and he longed for some way to knock that expression off the wizard's face. Nastily, Harry shot back, "I had believed they'd locked your kind in Azkaban."

The comment got no reaction. As if he hadn't heard, the Death Eater went on. "If you haven't grown up by now, I'm afraid you never will." A brief look of distaste crossed his features. "Of course, that might be the fault of your idiotic godfather."

Harry couldn't help himself. An animalistic snarl came across his face, the sneer exposing teeth. "I _hope_ they send you to Azkaban," he announced darkly, a low hiss. "I hope you get served with the Dementor's Kiss. I hope you spend the rest of your life feeling your soul getting sucked out of your body. After they do that, they'll probably use your body as a public display of what happens to Death Eaters." His snarl deepened, turning his eyes into shadowy pits. "You'll be carted around, your body trashed, and everything you own will be taken away from you. Your family will be turned out into the streets."

The Death Eater had gone very still, and his expression had become tense. When Harry stopped talking, the two stared at each other with wary caution, both waiting for the other to make the next move. Harry clenched his fists tighter, digging holes into his skin, and his teeth were pounded together hard enough they felt ready to break.

After a minute of tensed silence, the Death Eater softly asked, "Do you really?"

Teeth clenched, Harry barely heard himself answer, "Yes."

The wizard shook his head. "Why, Harry-"

"Because I hate you!" Harry burst out, body quivering with rage. He could hardly hold back from simply throwing himself at the man, from physically attacking. His shoulders trembled in time with his voice, both quiet and all the more frightening for it. "I hate you all. I hope all of you go to Azkaban and rot there forever." 

Abruptly, Harry let out a bitter laugh. He relaxed slightly, though his body was still shaking. Staring openly at the Death Eater, eyes a dark green with painful emotion, Harry unconcernedly said, "Do you know how long I've waited to say that? Waited for one of you to show you faces?" His eyes narrowed into green slits. "Five years. It's taken you five years to come and face me, and I've waited."

"I'm not here to face you," the Death Eater replied in a similar tone, face blank of all emotions and thoughts. Only one hand, clenched tightly around his cane, revealed anything. "I'm not here to do anything but talk."

"So, now that we're through talking, what are you going to do?" Harry taunted, recklessly throwing his will against the older man's. Another bitter laugh escaped me, and he tossed his head to one side. "Are you going to try and finish your master's job? I don't have a wand--not like I did five years ago. Maybe you'll be able to kill me. Maybe this time I won't be so lucky."

"We're not finished talking, Harry," the wizard pointed out softly. "We haven't even begun to talk."

"I'm finished," Harry declared, and his mouth snapped shut audibly, a sign that he really was finished and would talk no more.

"Then you can listen," came the undeterred answer. "You can listen to the truth of what happened five years ago, what happened that night. Perhaps after you're done listening, you might consent to talking again."

Harry said nothing.

The Death Eater waited a moment to let his words sink in, then spoke. "The night that your parents were killed, you never knew what led the Dark Lord to killing them. Why would He kill his own cousin, if not for a good reason?" The Death Eater raised in eyebrow. "In fact, why would He kill at all, if not for a good reason? Lord Voldemort did not, as your godfather would have you believe, revel in murder. He hated death."

Pausing, he watched for any reaction but received none. "Do you remember the Revolution?" the Death Eater asked.

__

'The revolution,' one of his Death Eater friends had once sat down to answer his question, 'is perhaps the only thing that makes sense in the world.'

'What do you mean?' he'd asked, captivated by the sound of awe in his friend's voice.

'Well,' the Death Eater's fingers gently touched the soft sand at their feet. They sat in a playground full of screaming muggles, but off to the side where no one could see them. One of his hands reached down and grabbed some of the white sand. 'Imagine that you're playing with white sand and,' his free hand grabbed some dark soil, mixing it with the sand, 'someone dumps some black sand onto you.' He gestured to the dirtied sand. 'Would you try to pick out every piece of black?'

Harry wrinkled his nose and shook his head, giggling at the insane idea.

The Death Eater nodded. 'You see it would be a fruitless task. No one could pick out every black piece of sand, but some people are foolish enough to try.'

'Like the Ministry?' Harry asked, having been told time after time how idiotic the Ministry was and guessing any insult was probably linked to them. The Death Eater nodded.

'Lord Voldemort knows that it's an impossible task to try and free the wizarding world of the black sand, so he's going to try and start over. He'll pick up as much of the white sand as he can, but the black sand is turning everything else black. He can't save everyone, and many wouldn't let him even if they could.'

The Death Eater sorted out the sand, grabbing as much as he could of the unsoiled bit and setting it aside. 'That's why we follow him. He's cleaning the world free of the mudbloods.'

'What happens to those he can't save,' Harry asked, eyes glued to the pile of dirty sand. 'To everyone else?' To his eyes, the larger portion of the sand was the portion doomed to become dirtied.

The Death Eater picked up the second pile and, sure that Harry was watching every move, tossed it into a puddle left by recent rain. The sand bubbled a moment, floating helplessly at the top before being pulled under. 'After the revolution, there won't be anyone left like that. But don't worry, Harry. Lord Voldemort is merciful above all and you have worth beyond your measure. All you need to do is make sure that you keep up your studies and prepare yourself for when that time comes.'

Harry averted his eyes, refusing to comment or even give hint that he remembered.

The Death Eater didn't wait. Gently but without hiding fact, he revealed the fact that Harry's own parents were against such a magnificent plan, had been working against Lord Voldemort from the beginning even after swearing to stay out of it. He revealed the Dark Lord's anguish at learning how his own cousin was working against him. What could turn a blood relative?

Dumbledore could.

Dumbledore. The man his parents adored, the man they praised and spoke well of always. Harry knew him to a detail before their first meeting. Half-moon glasses, twinkling blue eyes, snowy beard and whitened hair. Ageless and wise, who would always help the one in need.

The man who forced endless killings, whose unfailing pride would never stand down. Oh, how the Death Eaters hated him! He was the bane of everyone's existence, a weary old man who fought and killed just to prove he was of worth yet. His face was wrinkled, his skin dyed with age spots. He squinted even with glasses, and was half-mad already. Senile. The one standing before the Revolution.

Harry's eyes closed wearily, but he couldn't close his ears to the constant drone of condemnations, to the accusations against his parents. Their death toll was tallied up and their years of stealth blown out of cover. For every time that they left him alone, they were painted black with war stains--and worse than anything, everything they had done was done under complete secrecy. Had they publicly opposed Lord Voldemort, then these crimes wouldn't be as horrendous as they were. His parents had accepted the Dark Lord's protection, then used his honor against him in attacks and raids. An Auror wouldn't be so cruel.

And somewhere, Harry's own mind rebelled against him. Like a voice whispered into his ear, memories were recalled of times when his parents ran into "strangers" on the street, people who had seemed insane at the time but whose behavior was now understandable. The voice whispered that the Death Eater was right, that his parents had called their own deaths upon themselves.

"But Lord Voldemort never wanted to kill you, Harry," the Death Eater pointed out. "He had practically raised you as his own son. You were given the best education and constant protection. You were given happiness. You were given friends and love and a home. The world tried to take all this away from you, but He tried to make sure you always had them."

'Just shut up,' Harry silently pleaded. His head was spinning, and the more facts the Death Eater provided, the faster it went. He was reaching a dangerous point of exhaustion, mental and physical. He couldn't take anymore.

Sometime between a last slur against Dumbledore and a final plead to release Lord Voldemort of any murder charge, Harry's mind drifted off and his eyes rolled into the back of his head, leaving him unconscious and worn down to the bare minimum.

Lucius slowed down his speech, finally stopping when he became certain that Harry wasn't awake. He stepped up to the teenager, cautiously placing his hand on a limp shoulder and getting no response. Then, with remarkable tenderness, he gently picked up the light body, handling every step with care. The door opened at an unspoken command, and a few steps left him standing before a giant bed. Lucius softly placed the unconscious boy down, making sure that nothing was wrong. One final look around the room, at the sleeping body, and he left, shutting the door behind him. 

Harry wouldn't wake up for a few hours at least and by then, the boy would have realized that every word Lucius said was true.

He walked along the suite, steps making soft sounds on carpeted floor. Deep in thought, the wizard's mind let his feet carry him wherever unguided, and he stopped before his son's room. Quietly, Lucius opened that door and peered in, satisfied at seeing his own son's sleeping form apparently at ease.

The wizard walked to his own room, and slowly took a seat beside the bed. Looking at nothing, with nothing to look at in the darkness of the night, Lucius lost himself in a whirl of mental planning and activity. By the time the sun began to slyly peek in over the far horizon, he was still awake, still sitting up straight in a deep chair, still shaping out the last stages of his plan.

He finally let his head drop against his neck, more a sign of accomplishment than tiredness. "This will work," he murmured once into the morning air.


	16. Chapter XV

****

Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

__

He stopped. "I see no children," he said.

"They are hidden," the Egyptian priest explained.

"Brings them all forward," Abd Umar announced, and terrified mothers scattered through the town to bring their offspring out of hiding.

When the little ones were assembled, Abd Umar said in Greek, "Now let each child go to his true-born parents and let each father and mother certify that this child was born of his body." The children scattered to the arms of mothers, who clutched them hungrily, but some fourteen were left standing alone, the orphans of the town.

Abd Umar now dismounted and walked among the fourteen as if they were his sons and daughters. Of each one he asked, "Where is your father," and when none could reply he said, "These children are from this moment the children of Allah..." And he kissed the children, one by one, and they were his.

The Source, James A. Michener

****

Chapter XV

Ginny came down the stairs and looked around, her eyes showing a reflective listlessness. The brown depths, glossy and dull, had seen too little sleep the night before, and now she was paying for it. Yawning, covering her opened mouth with a hand, the Gryffindor lethargically looked around, rubbing sand out of her eyes and trying to stop another yawn.

There weren't a lot of people awake. 'Likely, no one had gone to sleep until long after two,' Ginny thought to herself. She hadn't. Even with McGonagall stalking the halls, she couldn't stop from sneaking out and looking over the banister at least once. Of course, her whole scheme had been ruined by the fact that the student and professor she'd been spying on spoke quietly, voices not carrying. Anyone who simply had to know what was going on was caught sneaking down the stairs, having learned nothing.

Ron wasn't up, and neither were the twins. Ginny stepped out of the middle of the stairway and gave herself some room to stretch, bones popping satisfactorily. A few eyes swirled her way, but she didn't care.

From the small crowds of waking students, she picked out a familiar face and smiled. "Neville," Ginny called out, waving a hand. The boy in question glanced up from where he'd been dozing off, and slowly stood, walking towards her. His expression was glum.

"Hey, Ginny," Neville greeted, leaning against the wall beside her.

The girl's face wrinkled up in concern. "Anything wrong?" she asked, searching his face for a clue. "You don't sound like yourself this morning."

Neville only shook his head. "It's nothing," he confessed, a little self-conscious. "I'm just a little worried about Harry, you know? He's acting very strange."

Ginny's face lit up with a grin, and she laughed. "Strange?" she repeated, eyes widening. "Why? I mean, it's not like you really know him or anything. For all we know, last night was a normal thing for him." She crossed her arms, turning away from him to face the room, head tilted back in speculation. "I actually don't know what the big deal is. So he didn't show up for Quidditch practice--there were a lot of other students who didn't. Malfoy didn't, and Hermione left in the middle of it. No one cares about them."

"But you didn't see Harry fly," Neville insisted seriously. "If you'd been outside, then you would have been angry that he didn't show up like the rest of us!" His face tightened as he said this, a sign of stress that Ginny recognized immediately. "And he did do something wrong. He left the school! Even you have to admit, Ginny, that that's against the rules."

"It is." Ginny bit the inside of her lip at the admission. Personally, she wanted nothing more than to let things settle themselves out--last night's little game of I-Spy was only because she was extremely curious.

Someone snickered, and the two Gryffindors straightened up to see a group of Slytherins walking down the stairs, all pompous arrogance and superiority. "Well, it looks like Potter's already causing a muck," the leading girl announced, one of her hands resting against her hip. The other was idly spinning her wand between agile fingers. That stopped as she tapped her wand against her cheek, a vicious smirk settling across her face. "If I had known that a Potter had that talent, I'd have been nicer in Potions."

"Shove off, Parkinson," Neville shot back stiffly, his lips thinned.

The Slytherin girl tilted her head mockingly. "You want to try and make me?" she purred. Her wand fingers twitched, convulsively tightening against the wooden rod.

But Neville wasn't the least bit put off. Standing to face her, his hand dipped into his pocket. He stared at her, eyes steady and unwavering. "I thought I proved I could yesterday," he reminded in a soft voice that hardly carried.

Parkinson's face flushed, and for a single moment the girl looked out of her depth, but then calm resettled itself and the Slytherin's face regained its sickening conceit. The girl's group marched down the stairs, snidely ignoring Ginny after that, and soon only Parkinson remained there, having paused in front of the two Gryffindors in the act of walking past them. She didn't glance at them, just stood there for a moment as if making sure they knew who she was before she walked away with her gang.

There was a moment of silence afterwards until Ginny shook her head wonderingly. "Those Slytherins..." she murmured mostly to herself, but Neville nodded in agreement. "They keep getting worse each year, don't they?"

"Almost like they're rotting!" Neville joked, and when Hermione walked downstairs, the two were shaking with laughter.

"I don't see what's so funny," Hermione fretted, her face pale with worry. She glanced around, hands wringing themselves anxiously. Without stopping to say more, the girl walked on, exiting the building and taking her dark clouds with her.

Not even a minute after that, while Ginny and Neville were still puzzling over the witch's radical behavior, Ron stomped down looking furious. "Where is she?" he demanded, eyebrows low on his forehead. Wordlessly, Ginny pointed towards the door and watched with her face stretched in surprise as her brother stomped his departure.

She glanced at Neville. "What was all that about?" Neville shrugged, and while the two gossiped over the possibilities, they walked out of the building, joining up with a few other friends and generally heading towards the Great Hall for breakfast. On the way there, Ginny noticed a black speck taking off against a clear blue sky as an owl flew, bearing messages. Funny. She hadn't seen Harry getting up that morning. In fact, she hadn't seen him since the early hours in the morning, and then she had been crowded back behind a human wall of Gryffindors. As she entered the dining building, she wondered exactly what had been going on last night, why Hermione had been so upset a second ago, and what else could possibly go wrong in the last days of the vacation.

*

"I don't want to do this anymore," Leo stated, leaning forward in the grass wearily and using his wand to forced the grass into tiny circles.

Sirius smiled affectionately at the little child, the child who reminded him so much of James. The wand of course had been given to Leo at a young age, but no one noticed anything wrong with that. What was wrong with giving the world's savior a wand earlier than others? "But you have to," he replied gently. "I thought you wanted to be like Harry."

"Right." The child's voice lacked any motivation and Leo flipped on his back, his light brown hair flopping up with him. It was uncanny how similar the brothers looked, Sirius decided, watching Leo. Though there were differences in coloring, the two were practically twins of each other. Save age of course. If Leo hair was just a little darker and his eyes a little greener... Leo's mouth turned up in a pout. "But I don't want to."

Chuckling, Sirius ruffled the child's hair. "All right, we'll take a break, but we'll start again tomorrow. You don't want to be behind at school, do you?" Leo shook his head no and excitedly ditched the home-schooled class Sirius was about to teach with more energy than he'd ever shown trying to learn.

"That kid," Sirius shook his head and nearly had a heart attack when someone laughed.

"I agree," Remus said, coming up from the house. He wore a light jacket and jeans, muggle styled for a reason.

"Ah." Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Got another job?"

"Yea. From the Ministry of all places." Remus took out a piece of parchment and glanced through it though he undoubtedly had the list memorized. He handed it down to Sirius. "It's strange, though. The creatures they want me to find aren't... what I normally catch."

"Demons?" Sirius' eyes widened and he looked up. "Don't tell me the Ministry's starting to do business with-"

Remus laughed again and waved the idea away. "No, no. Nothing like that. They already assured me that there was a, and I quote, 'strict purpose' behind the capturing of the demons."

"Capture? Now that is too strange."

"Tell me about it. There are only bad reasons for wanting to capture a demon." Remus shook his head. "But the Ministry assures me that it's a legal purpose and it's not actually just this Ministry." He looked up in thought as Sirius handed the parchment back. "It's from all the European Ministries, so I'm thinking this demon hunt has something to do with the Tournament."

"Luckily Harry's not in that," Sirius breathed sincerely, looking down at his hands.

"Yea," Remus agreed. "Lucky that."

*

He woke up, words and dreams haunting him into consciousness, only to find that the sunlight couldn't dispel all nightmares. Lucius Malfoy was still there; Draco Malfoy was still there.

Hours later, long after the lunch hour and well into the afternoon, Harry was finally allowed to leave the governor's apartment after another small "lesson" on the goodness of the Dark Lord, and idly he walked through the gardens at the front of the school. No one else was around. The silence was company enough for gloomy brooding.

Beauxbatons' gardens were beautiful, breath-taking even to the hopeless spectator. Experts in foliage and flora could be stunned into several minutes of quiet appreciation of the layout, the infusion between beauty and magic. Carvers could wonder at the majesty of the statues, the depictions of the most graceful lines of the human body or the animal torso or whatever else stone was shaped into. Even students who knew nothing of the effort put into the place could enjoy the peace and shade indiscriminately. 

He chose to sit beneath the shade of a large and creaky tree whose branches seemed to bend over in an attempt to hide him from the world and claim him as its own. Motionless, he watched the breeze rustle branches, trying to force leaves away in quick and playful strikes. He could hear the sound of a stream not too far away, its bubbly nature something that was listened to unconsciously, a natural symphony. Above that were the voices of students and professors and whoever else was there at Beauxbatons.

Vaguely, against his will even, words drifted to him along with the bubble of the brook. Accusations against his parents that came accompanied with images provoked by memory. Moment by moment, his thoughts became darker and stormier, a repetition of every word said the night before. He could remember every word perfectly, as if Lucius was standing before him once more with his spitting mouth and cold eyes.

Those thoughts were disquieting. He lost the peace of the gardens in them. He lost any rest from the night before, from the day before in the forest. All he could hear was the single accusing voice and nothing else in defense. Were his parents guilty? Would they have possibly done something so wrong, so... rightfully wrong?

'It's a paradox, then,' Harry decided with a glum shake of his head, and he could hear someone laughing maniacally in the background of his thoughts as if the whole situation was somehow freakishly hilarious. He hoped it wasn't him.

If James and Lily hadn't done anything to help the war, they would have been undeniably guilty of hiding away, of trying to pretend that the battles and deaths didn't effect them in any way. They would have been legally guilty, as British citizens living in Britain at a time when Britain was at war, of accepting sanctuary with the enemy, a treasonous offense. They would have been guilty of assisting the enemy in the sense that they were not actively resisting him.

If James and Lily had done something, they would have been guilty of a villainous backstabbing as traitorous as anything. Having given their word to stay away from the battles in exchange for protection, breaching that covenant was giving their protector full right to remove any protection. They would have, in effect, '"gotten what they deserved."

The gardens were stuffy, and the tree was suddenly a creeping enemy trying to capture him in its web. Paranoid, completely unsettled, Harry irritably stood up, swatting at the swaying tree branches with a violence not in his nature. Purposely, he stomped through a row of delicate flowers.

The destruction was pointless but formed an outlet for frustration. No one was around to stop him.

Glaring about with narrowed, hate-filled eyes, Harry saw the gardens and detested every single thing about them. It was all too perfect, too unnatural. Nature wasn't like that. Nature was chaotic; nature was dark. Nature was a cruel thing. Coldly, Harry curled his hands into fists, eyes still surveying the scenery with a cynical anger.

With a deliberate action, he walked over to the nearest statue and shoved the perfect Adonis figure off its risen pedestal. Because it was magical, the statue was animate and, going down, it let out a surprised yelp. It crashed against the ground, but with only a few chips, the destruction wasn't enough. Harry walked over, movements chillingly graceful and controlled as he stood watching over the stunned statue, thinking. He leaned over to test its weight, ignoring the thing's comments as well as the noise from the other statues in the area, only to find that it was too heavy to lift and throw again.

"What on earth on you doing?" a carved woman of stone asked, hysterical, as Harry pulled out his wand. Her eyes, designed to face away from the school, flitted around in a panic, unable to look away from the vandalism of her colleague and unable to call for help.

"By Merlin..." breathed a statue of a wizard, possibly one of Merlin, as Harry sent the Adonis flying to smash against a roaring cat figurine. Chips of stone went flying, scattering across the ground like marble blood, and the cat's roar became a mute whimper, then no more.

The other sculptures began to murmur, first frightened, then panicked as the wizard-in-training turned his cool attention on each, methodically destroying every piece of art in the immediate area. All the while, that single accusing voice taunted him, daring him to lay down his allegiances. At times, it seemed like Lucius's voice was replaced with someone else's, someone whose voice was as cold as ice or death or darkness.

Parents _the voice seemed to hiss_... (A sculpting of some witch slid across the ground, ruthlessly uprooting the carefully planted ferns.) ... they couldn't be trusted _think of all they've done_ They ... (A tearing spell ripped flower petals to shreds, then shredded green leaves and roots.) ... lied _worse than that_ Cheated _more_ Left him _all alone_

Death Eaters _remember everything they've done to you_... (Three neat rows of waist-high bushes abruptly rose into the air and served as a rough broom, scrapping their branches to nothing while digging vicious streaks into the earth.) ... traitors, evil, liars_ but were they really?_ No, not them _of course not_... (Some statue cracked in half and gibbered mindlessly until a spell crumbled granite into dust.)

Aurors, the Ministry... (He laughed at this idea, a hollow and lifeless sound that fit in with the freezing over of that stupid brook _the voice laughed with him_) ... all of them were stupid _yes_, idiotic _yes_, and (The tree with its dipping branches was violently stripped, sticks and twigs torn out.)_ don't forget_ taking advantage of _the worse part_ (Leaves fell down, with the procedure being much more efficient than some weak breeze.) Leo _he's so young_

With a snarl, Harry flung one last piece of stone at the tree's bare trunk, breathing hard and eyes unfocused, not seeing as the stone imbedded itself in weeping sap. His body gave a shudder and wordlessly he tumbled, making a bed in the broken lilies and cracked antlers. Shuddering, shaking, but making no sound whatsoever, the only thing he heard was his rushing heartbeat, and he listened to its fast pace slow down as adrenaline left him aching.

Energy was gone, anger rush was gone. Weakly, he turned over to lie on his back and stare dumbly at the blue sky whose tranquility was mocking. Stone chips burrowed against his skin, but he ignored them. White clouds puffed importantly about, as if unafraid of his recent temper, as if knowing that no matter what, he couldn't touch them. Staring at them too long made his eyes hurt. They were too white, and he blinked away tears.

'I think I hate them,' he confessed to those pale wisps, knowing that if he couldn't harm them, the clouds could do nothing to him in return. They just floated, some seemingly stationary while others raced the heavens. 'I think I hate them all.'

Sighing, he forced himself to his knees, and had to stop when a particularly sharp flint chip stabbed into his leg, a tiny but deep puncture wound. Hissing air between his teeth, he tweaked deft fingers against the protruding stone and drew it out in a quick motion, throwing the chip behind his shoulder without the least bit of fury. All of his anger had been drained, leaving him with nothing left. His personality resumed itself, mellowing his mood and shallowing his gloomy brooding until he lost his dark edge of viciousness.

When he stood up, his eyes widened at the damage done to the entire area. A rampant destruction had occurred here, a murder of beauty, a meaningless devastation. And a sharp pang of guilt, as sharp as the stone embedded into his leg, tore through his heart at the realization that all of this had come of his unleashed and uncontrolled temper. The only good thing was that no one else was around; there was no telling what injury could have occurred.

He was so tired. Just viewing the scene was too much, and he felt like collapsing again. Another thing that was his fault, Harry accepted sadly. It had been so easy to blame everyone else, but in the end he was the one that was destroying everything. No wonder Leo didn't want to be near him. There was nothing left to be done about it, he supposed dully, giving up and letting the last of his emotions dry out.

Repairing this spot of the garden was done with the same split-thought as happened during its destruction. 

His parents (Flowers were collected and meticulously glued back together, slightly lopsided and limping but back in their original positions.) had left him because he was a horrible child, and the protection (The little stream was thawed out, its watery life brought back from a frozen existence.) that the Dark Lord offered simply wasn't important enough as they didn't particularly care for Harry anyway. He had always known that, had always known that Leo was the child everyone liked better. _The voice was quiet but felt like it was brooding, wordlessly_

The Death Eaters (Half of a statue floated into the air, its other half slowly reassembling itself from fragmented dust.) had never promised him continual friendship, and they had never (A pedestal, tipped over and chipped, righted itself.) pretended that they were on anything more than their master's business. He had let himself be tricked into believing (The stone piece pierced into the tree wobbled and pulled out, dripping of sap and leaving a hole behind.) that they had ever really cared for them. It wasn't betrayal when they were only following orders, and those orders had been rightfully followed through after his parents' atrocious betrayal of the Dark Lord's trust. Besides (Still whimpering, the cat statue regained its standing place, warily watching him with its whispers twitching.) here Lucius was, at the first opportunity available, trying to regain past trust. _They're only trying to help you_

Aurors (He paused in his reconstruction, face darkening momentarily in the act of reattaching broken tree branches.) well, there was no help for the Ministry, but he had never thought that there would be. If the Death Eaters (Fallen leaves hopped onto a magical wind to ride back up to twigs and sticks, clothing the tree again.) returned, then he was free to publicly hate the Ministry once more. _Hate and more_

The gardens were returned to normal, and only the slightest of details hinted at the possibility of anything other than a perfect scene. Experts in foliage would sit stunned, sculptors would wonder, and students would enjoy. Everything was beautiful; everything was orderly.

Harry stood in the middle of it, body quivering from the effort of first destroying and then repairing. His muscles were bunched up, a physical reflection of magical fatigue, and the sinews twitched in agitation, forcing shock-shudders out of his limbs. The world felt mysteriously cold, ready to gape down and destroy him if it could. Sweat covered his body, dripping with stinging accuracy into his eyes and down his face and down his neck, clinging to all parts of him. 

His eyes burned, and he blinked away tears, looking up to squint the sensation away only to find that the sky was clear of all clouds. So blue, it looked like an empty space, some stretching blue cover over all the world with no specific purpose. All of it painted the same monotonous color, so boring and annoying.

"I hate them," he whispered aloud, needing to hear the words, "I hate them anyway." A flash of his parents zipped through his mind, some remembered time of fun, but it enraged him. Why should he have to remember them, after everything they did? Why should he still have to feel... wounded somehow? And he realized that now, his anger was directed only at those two dead ones. The living were no longer afforded his hate.

Shaking badly from physical exhaustion and mental tension, Harry stumbled over to the tree again, reveling in the way its branches still tried to claim him despite his fit of madness, reveling in the way that it tried to hide him from the world in an oddly protective gesture, reveling in the fact that such an inanimate object could act more caring towards him than the animate objects of the world. He felt oddly cheated, like just now realizing that his childhood hadn't been normal in the least and he hadn't been able to go through all the motions of ignorant innocence and love. He felt oddly cheated that the only being that now cared to hold him was a mindless and overgrown tree. But he was too weak to do anything about it beside stumble to the tree's great trunk and collapse there, ignoring the overwhelming scent of tree sap or its dripping stickiness.

Lucius's _the voice's _words rang through his head a final time, sounding like some definite boundary he had to pass. Whether or not to believe him? Oh, how he wanted to! And... and how he as going to. He realized it now, a doom-bell sounding in his mind. He had already accepted the Death Eaters again, Lucius at least, and it would start a chain reaction. Who knew where it would end? But he no longer cared. If half of what Lucius said was true... and the Death Eater had no reason to lie.

The analysis burned into his brain, and weakly Harry began to laugh, hollowly and lifelessly. He leaned his head against the tree trunk, ignoring how the sap dripped into his hair, and let his chest shake in dry laughs and groans and then choking sobs. Eyes closed, he railed against fate, sobs grounding into nothingness as the air became silent again, the perfect atmosphere for brooding about pain and inevitability.

Footsteps crept through the gardens, and even with his body hazy and mind dulled, Harry pulled his head up to see the black-robed governor standing before him, posture arched in cool perfection and confidence. "You missed lunch." The admonition was odd, coming from that person with that history and that personality.

His head slumped against his chest, eyes that felt as dry as sand closing, and Harry waited a moment before answering, "I did." There was an odd defeated air around him, suffocating him, but he didn't care anymore.

He could imagine the wizard raising an eyebrow, and Lucius indeed did do so, looking curiously at the slumped shoulders and exhausted face.

Harry let loose a low breath, not quite a sigh but almost as desolate, then forced his eyes to open and his head to raise, staring defiantly at the man before him. "Did you want something?" he shot out, bitter about the intrusion on his privacy, on his life, on everything. "I'm not really in the mood for more surprises. I'm having enough trouble as it is."

The Death Eater chuckled dryly. "No, Harry, I only came out here to see how you were doing. There were a few rumors being spread this morning, and some unhappy professors." He paused, then thoughtfully added, "How are you feeling, Harry?" It was asked sincerely, almost as though the man really wanted to know. There was even the proper facial expression. It was so artificial that Harry fought against an urge to look away.

His bitterness growing, Harry determined one thing: even if he threw his lot in with Lucius, he would never let the man have any influence over him. _One final whisper: control him, not the other way around_ Eyes narrowing, the green slits almost glowing under the tree shade, Harry watched the wizard closely. "Better," the teenager allowed, "now that I've decided a few things."

That caught the Death Eater's attention, though Lucius tried to hide any interest. Harry leaned his head back against the tree, wondering if he was going to regret anything then deciding not to wonder any more. Quietly, he explained his belief in everything Lucius had said, and his shaky offer of trust was extended. Just as quietly, Lucius accepted the words, adding more about future meetings with the other Death Eaters.

The next time any Gryffindor--or any Hogwarts student--saw him, he was different. There was a certain change in his attitude, in his appearance, in his atmosphere. Instead of seeming to simply repulse people, ignoring them or hiding away, he now steadily pretended that they no longer concerned him. It was as if he was an adult mind trapped in a teenager's body, forced to go through the motions of adolescence while truly being too wise for it. It was like he, an experienced veteran of life, was thrown in with a multitude of immature youths.

And because they were so inexperienced with the ways of observation, no one really noticed.

*

The language was flowing, tangy, almost a force that either pushed outsiders aside or invited them in. He walked, feeling a sense of peace in this pool of meaningless gabble, enjoying his time of obscurity. Not that he really expected to walk along a stranger much longer. His face was on many a young witch/wizard's chocolate card, and it would not take long for them to connect the card's smiling wizard to him, walking along the centuries-old stone path.

Spanish washed along his ears--distinctively different from his continent's own version, but only to those who listened. The people smile and nodded at him, backing away to allow him comfortable walking space, respecting him as an elder wizard if nothing else. Perhaps they thought him a customs inspector, checking to make sure this tournament was run smoothly. Perhaps they thought him nothing more than a wandering wizard. He returned the smiles but moved on purposely, avoiding the tourists traps and sidestepping younger children.

A voice called out to him, innately familiar though speaking a foreign tongue. He smiled and allowed an elderly witch to walk by before crossing through the crowds and noise to his one and only brother. In the sea of tanned bodies, his and his brother's bleach-pale skins stuck out like a sore spot in an otherwise exotic photo.

Aberforth was in the middle of telling a magical story, hand-motions entrapping his young audience as assuredly as the older. Tattered robes clung to his body, creating the image of a homeless and harmless beggar, inviting those passing by to leave a small donation. Indeed, a pile of gold coins was already growing at his feet. Thin and bony, beardless but with a head full of short, wiry white hair, Albus remembered that Aberforth could nevertheless present quite a presence when he wanted to. At the moment, a brightly colored parrot was picking through his hair.

The children squealed with delight as he brought his story to a close, their parents and older siblings shaking their heads in muted wonder and amusement. Aberforth grinned and wiggled his ears--a talent Albus himself found mildly disturbing--and the children screamed louder, laughing hard enough to make passerbys pause to see what the fun was about. The parents smiled, coming up to talk with the eccentric old man, leaving a few more gold coins behind before gathering their children and herding them off.

Aberforth grinned, waving farewell to them, and went about picking up his new money, and it took a minute for his eyes to finally look up. When they did, they didn't widen in surprise or look the slightest bit unsettled at the sight of a newly arrived elder brother. "Albus, what are you doing here?" he asked, an accent he must have picked up while in the country tinting his words. Both of them knew the question was purely for conversational value; Aberforth already knew what he was doing.

Albus smiled. "Aberforth, it is good to see you. You're doing well?"

His brother shrugged a bony shoulder, motioning to the pile of gold. "Good enough considering I've not done a day's work yet, not real work anyhow." He grinned, then, and waved Albus over. He finished dropping the gold into a small sack. "Let's talk somewhere private. Your fan club will be here as soon as the word gets out."

He was right, as always; seconds later, a young boy walking by, having just opened up his chocolate frog, bumped into Albus while trying to catch the bouncing amphibian. Opening his mouth to apologize, the boy looked up, gulped, looked down, compared the card in his hands to the wizard before him, and then started gibbering. Aberforth laughed, leaning forward to whisper something in Spanish to the young child.

The boy's eyes widened and, glancing towards Albus, he asked in an awed voice, "_Este es tu hermano?_"

"_Si,_" Aberforth nodded, pointing to Albus and replying in a joking voice when the boy's eyes widened yet again and began stuttering in disbelief. Aberforth frowned, looking slightly offended, and said something again that got the boy pulling something--a piece of paper--from his pockets.

"_Puedo tener su autografia, Senor Dumbledore-_"

Aberforth laughed heartily, drawing the attention of those who heard, all of them turning to goggle at Albus. Waving the paper away, Aberforth tugged on Albus' robes and started away from the prying and awe-filled eyes.

The two walked along, dodging into the nearby trees when the crowds came along looking for them, and after a while's walk, Aberforth led up through the trees to a nearly invisible little house that looked very old and worn. "I hope you're not planning to stay long," he commented to Albus as he knocked on the house's door. "Now that they know who you are and that you're here, they'll be starting a fire trying to find you."

Albus smiled softly and shook his head. "No, I hadn't planned on staying more than a few hours." His eyes drifted upwards to the sun as it began its slow afternoon decent to the bottom of the sky. "There are things back home that need my attention as soon as I can spare the time."

Aberforth mumbled something darkly, and the door opened before Albus could ask what. It opened to show a little old woman so frail that she looked like a good gust of wind could knock her down. Around her feet, small children crowded, fighting to see who their visitor was. When they saw Aberforth, they surged forward, squealing and squirming to get past the woman and grab at his legs and tattered robes, hands up as if grasping for something.

Aberforth laughed, patting at his pockets and pulling from them a bag of sweets that he passed out to the grasping hands. He looked to the old woman, smiling cheekily, and handed her another sack--the same sack he'd placed his newfound wealth into. At the sound of the jiggling coins, her face lit up with wonder and she leaned past the children to plant a kiss on his forehead.

The children broke into tears of laughter as Aberforth's face went up to a blush, and somewhat indignantly, Aberforth motioned to Albus, speaking words that the children obviously didn't believe. The woman smiled at Albus, ushering everyone into the house and directing, in Spanish, the two brothers down the halls.

"They never believe me," Aberforth muttered, walking down the hall with the ease of familiarity. "I tell them my brother is the great Albus Dumbledore, and they laugh at me. I tell them that this brother will be visiting this very night, and they dub me the mad seer. And at last I bring them this brother. Do you know what they do?" He threw his hands into the air with mock fury. "They ask how much money I spend buying 'brothers'."

"You look very happy here," Albus commented softly, entering a room behind his brother and taking a seat in an offered chair. "More than you ever did in England." He paused, then added thoughtfully, "I'm sure if mother ever knew how unhappy you were in England, she never would have disinherited you."

"Mother never thought I was unhappy," Aberforth reminded curtly. "And she didn't disinherited me because I left. She thought I was unstable, and the incident with the goat never helped. Besides, I never needed the money--not from her or you." His eyes glittered suddenly. "But you didn't come here to offer me money."

"The offer stands, as always," Albus stated quietly. "You just never accept."

I told you once," Aberforth reminded, talking as if from a far-away place. "I told you, when we were still children, that I would never like money. That I would never need money."

"A warning," Albus concurred softly. "I see that now. At the time, we were both too young to know what you were trying to say, what you were speaking about." He let the words sink in a moment. "I see so many things that should have opened my eyes." And he looked down into his hands. "I do believe you know why I'm here."

"Of course I do," Aberforth said absently, eyes acquiring a gazed-over quality. "I always do, don't I?" He chuckled darkly. "Mother was right in a way. I am rather unstable."

"You are a seer," Albus corrected, but Aberforth merely shrugged.

"Same difference. Let's see… you are here because you've learned a disturbing fact the other day didn't you? Something with a diary and a boy--that Thomas Riddle fellow."

"Tom Riddle. And the diary confirmed my fears." Albus closed weary blue eyes, his century-plus age showing. "He is alive, as alive as a bodiless being can be, and I fear he has a plan to regain his body. Talking with a younger version of him through the diary, I realize that he's had a plan for many years now, since the age he took on the title 'Lord Voldemort.'"

"Of course he does." Aberforth raised an eyebrow. "Did you expect him to stay at his less-than-ghost state forever?"

"Aberforth, is there anything you can tell me?" At his brother's look, Albus quickly added, "Nothing about the future--I'd never press you. But perhaps something in the past will help solve this riddle, this riddle of what Tom plans to do."

Surprisingly, Aberforth's normally expressive face blanked out, closing like a forbidden book, a sure sign of something important being said or inferred, meaning that there _was_ something in the past that would help the future. Of course, there was much in the past that was better left unknown. All he said in answer to the request was "Oh? About what?"

Albus stood, unable to keep sitting, and started to pace, one aged hand against his temple. "I don't know," he confessed weakly. "Something… something weighs on my mind. A mistake I made. A detail I overlooked. Something… and I fear it has to do with the Potter child." He shook his head. "There is something connecting the defeater and the defeated. A spell that Tom might use to revive himself."

"Potter." Aberforth smiled tentatively, easing slightly as if sensing an escape from an untimely situation. "Well, if it's the Potter boy… I'm sure I can space a few secrets to ease your mind." Albus sighed in relief, sitting down once more and turning all his attention to his brother. "Yes… Potter. What would you like to know?"

"Did he defeat Voldemort?"

A shadow passed over his brother's eyes, then Aberforth smiled again and nodded. "No doubt there. I'll remember that battle for quite some time. It's not often that a Seer has the chance to witness the fulfilling of his own prophecy, or partial one at that."

Albus closed his eyes for a moment in relief. "That is good," he murmured quietly. "When Tom tries to rise again, he will need Leonard to gain full power, and I must admit that whatever other faults the Ministry has, the protections around Leonard are near unbreakable." With his eyes closed, he didn't see the slightly pained look on his brother's face, a look that was quickly erased.

There was a knock on the door and one of the children, a little girl, stuck her head in, saying something. Aberforth responded with a nod and the girl was gone. "They say that dinner is done," he explained, standing up to stretch.

Albus nodded, still thinking, and the two made their way towards the kitchen where delicious smells came floating in the air. Outside, the loud noise of the crowd could be heard even from a distance, and Aberforth snorted. Albus glanced at him, but his brother said nothing. It wasn't until a small crowd had passed close by, loud enough to make the old lady look up in slight fear, that he let his opinions known.

"They're too concerned with this," Aberforth finally said, and Albus listened hungrily, knowing that whatever words came from his brother now would be tinged with prophecy. "This tournament, that tournament--all the tournaments. They place too much value on the outcomes of a competition when really time should be spent on preparation." 

"Preparation?" Albus repeated. "Preparation for what?" They reached the kitchen, sitting as the witch and the many children brought out bowl and bowl of steaming food.

His brother let out a small breath and leaned back as if contemplating the ceiling. "Preparation for the future," Aberforth finally replied, drifting into his cryptic mode again, where whatever he said was prophecy but prophecy so twisted and hidden that the only way to understand it was to live it. "Preparation for a time when the world will be turned backwards, when falsities will become the public's only truth."

Then his prophesying was over. He smiled gratefully, starting a conversation in Spanish with the rest of the household and leaving Albus to carefully ponder the words spoken.

After the delicious dinner, Aberforth led him just outside the house and they discussed the differences between this tournament and the one going on in Europe. This tournament had been placed in a large clearing. Unlike their European counterparts, these wizards and witches had no school large enough to fit all the champions, and neither could they agree on a specific school to simply enlarge. Instead, they chose a large area in Brazil deep in the rain forest to create a school. Away from muggle eyes, it seemed like a perfect idea.

However, it disturbed much of the local life.

"This lady here for instance," Aberforth pointed out as an example. "When they decided to have the tournament here, she was offered money to move out, to let someone live here for the year. Some rich couple from Mexico. But she said no, that the memories of this place were too great to simply give away for money. They greatly need the money, badly need it, but they've lived here alone for as long as her family has been around, and they'll live here after the tournament is over." He shrugged. "So I give them money."

Albus nodded, feeling proud of his younger brother and the way the seer had dealt with his life. It hadn't been easy for Aberforth. He motioned to the stones placed on the floor like a path from this house to the small village nearby. "This is Native work, is it not?"

Aberforth grinned deviously as if he knew something no one else did, which was of course true. "It is. The Natives left a lot behind. This house is many years old, left over from that time period. They left walls, buildings, paths, and even statues."

In the distance, a small sound floated in the air, lingering with long and deep notes. It was a horn, and it was a signal for something. Seconds after the horn rang, one of the children burst open the front door, her family not far behind her, and she called out excitedly to the two brothers, yelling something than running off towards the noise with the rest of the family.

Aberforth looked to Albus with a grin. "Come on," he said, standing up and helping Albus to his feet. "You don't want to miss this, and whatever else you've planned can wait." That, if anything was an order. "The Wizard Tournament's about to begin."

They walked at a comfortable pace, ignoring the rushing crowds to all sides. Excitement was in the air, growing as another and then another horn sounded, noise growing until a beautiful melody of horns was formed.

They came upon the huge clearing prepared for the tournament. A section of the rainforest had been cleared of all plants and animals, those being relocated to other parts of the jungle. The wizards would, of course, replace the creatures once the year was up, but until then the area was strictly magical.

A group of young students went by, the flag of Mexico wrapped around them as they screamed and shouted, drawing amusement from their elders. Central America, though part of North America, had been added to the South American Wizarding Tournament simply because most of those countries spoke the same language. At first, the arrangement looked doomed to fail; taking Mexico and the other countries from the North's Tournament would leave only Canada and the United States to compete against each other as Greenland hadn't a proper wizarding school. But then, the United States' different states all clamored to compete as separate entities in the contest, and the Canadian territories argued the same. Surprisingly, the ministers had allowed it, leaving fifty states against three territories and ten provinces, odds that both countries were content with.

People were chanting and the crowds cheered as, on a platform in the middle of the clearing, a group of ministers appeared. They waved, inciting more emotions from the crowds, and finally one stepped forward to begin speaking.

Beside him, Aberforth quietly murmured, "He's welcoming us all… and now they're introducing the chosen champions." At each name, there was some supporter, some cheerleader in the crowd screaming with happiness. Some names were short and easy to pronounce. "Braulio Cortez" of Venezuela was one that Albus felt confident enough to try repeated, sure that his tongue wouldn't stumble over the simple sounds. Others, however, were long and twisted with rolling R's and breathy vowels that, should he try to pronounce, he was sure to offend

Introductions were soon over and, as the ministers began speaking, Aberforth kindly took up translating again. There was a spell that would allow a witch or wizard to understand all languages, but it was extremely taxing on the sense and a translator was much more reasonable. "He's saying all this garbage about how he hopes everyone had a good time and that the best champion will win." Aberforth snorted in derision. "He's the Minster of Venezuela and his own son in the champion. No doubt there who he _really_ wants to win." Then Aberforth paused and his face lit up. "And now," he breathed, hardly audible over the crowd, "the tournament will begin with its first task."

Albus made a sound in the back of his throat, then asked, "They will announce the task, then?"

His brother looked to him as if he were mad. "Of course they will! What kind of tournament would this be if a champion couldn't at least slightly prepare for the task? Even last year with those dragons, the champions had a minute or two to sort things out mentally." He winced. "Though I hear that Amos boy didn't think things _quite_ through. Panicked, didn't he?"

Albus made another noise and settled for watching. The ministers had apparently already told what the task would be, for the crowds had quieted down and the champions, all seated right next to the platform, looked pale. "What did he say?"

"What?" Aberforth looked up. "Oh, they're to be facing down Dark Wizards" He made a face. "A little over-dramatic, I'd say. Dark Wizards indeed." A very nice side affect of seeing the future was never being truly surprised at future events. Where Aberforth dismissed the task, Albus' throat tightened. No wonder the crowd was quiet, the champions pale. Who would willingly face down a Dark Wizard?

Announcements made, the ministers huddled together, calling some aides from offstage, and using their combined powers to begin a chant. Voices echoed through the clearing, chilling the thousands gathered to watch, and it seemed the earth itself shuddered in fear.

When the ministers chose this clearing, they deliberately left the many ancient Indian statues that lay or stood scattered about the area, crumbling and growing moss. The reason became apparent as the statures, touched by the magical voices, began to move. Those nearby screamed, jumping back, but the statures merely shook off millennial dust and moss before making a cumbersome way to the front.

Some of the champions murmured to each other, taking out their wands and staring dubiously at the oncoming onslaught of slow, rotting stone statures. Albus could almost hear their thoughts, hear them mocking the stone's slow and lumbering ways, hear them confidently assure themselves that, if these were the 'wizards' then victory was to be quick. He could almost hear them, and he wanted to cry out a warning.

The spell the ministers were chanting was none other than a reanimation chant, but his Latin picked out added words: strength, skill, speed, magic--dark magic. The ministers were taking these statures and slowly transforming them into stone wizards, stones that would soon be capable of magic as dark and powerful as that of Grindelwald.

One minister was speaking again, and Aberforth yawned. "Something, something, something. They're going to match each student up with a certain statue," the statues had reached the front now, eyes glowing but standing frightening still as if seeking through the student ranks to find their opponent, "and it'll be based on the champion's strength, meaning that each battle will be hard." One statue, a cross between man and cow, let out a roar as it picked out its student, and it slowly raised an arm. "Each champion is supposed to defeat their monster, then sit out on the sidelines. No helping."

The other ministers had finished their chants and now all backed away from the platform. Some wizards decked out in Auror robes stepped forward, casting shields around the area for the crowds' protection.

The fight began.

The man-cow statue's arm pointed to a champion like a death sentence, and from its mouth came surprisingly human words. The other statues did the same, each to their own student. This champion confidently took out her wand and, as the duel began, bowed low to the statue even as the statue did the same. From the man-cow came a spell, a combination of disarming and stunning, that the witch easily knocked aside, answering with her own spell of a water blast. She was trying to use the elements against stone to win against the statue, but when the water was gone the stone still remained untouched.

The statue, dripping wet, took a step forward and the witch, cursing in Spanish, took a step back. Her wand waved and an invisible wind was sent forward to knock the statue from its feet, but the stones moved magically quick, avoiding the spell that went on to knock a few champions away accidentally. The witch tried again, this time sending a freezing spell, and it hit.

The statue froze, but before the witch could do anything more, its stones began to click and clank, moving so slightly that the ice that frosted its body began to quiver. Its motions picked up speed until the statue was able to shake off the spell, much to the amazement of the witch. It sent a spell that hit her, sending her down to the ground with a yelp.

The stone didn't wait. The instant her feet went unsteady, it attacked with a viciousness that Albus was shocked to recognize. The statue's face twisted into a merciless grin, drawing back one hand and murmuring with a husky breath the words of a spell. The spell, of course, was not an attack, at least not a physical one; when it was done chanting, a shroud of darkness covered the statue that, when the shroud left, had removed all statue-looking properties. In the stone's stead was a face of immaculate beauty and mesmerizing savagery. The crowds went wild, also realizing what evil spirit this statue was imitating--none other than the Dark Lord.

Lord Voldemort, or what imitation this was of him, calmly dusted the rock and stones from his new robes, and turned a face towards the crowds, pale face too familiar for anyone's comfort. The shield that was supposedly placed around the champions to prevent harm to the spectators was instantly forgotten as the Dark Lord took one step towards the crowds.

The girl, meanwhile, had recovered her shock and was back on her feet with a scream. Her wand, held in a shaky hand, sent a curse at the humanized stone, foreign voice lost on Albus' ears, but the reincarnated Voldemort shook the curse off, letting it slide from his shoulders like hot oil.

The other champions, many completing the task quickly and efficiently, turned and watched this last trail with horrified awe, and one of the champions rushed towards the girl, shouting something. She shook her head, but the boy moved towards her side.

Voldemort was examining his new challengers, taking a sick amusement and no caution from the fact that he was being double-teamed, for the boy now shot off curses at him in time with the girl, magically doubling her power. Like before, the Dark Lord shrugged the power off.

Albus leaned forward, old eyes taking in the scene, knowing that Tom Riddle was defeated but wondering how his spirit could've been brought back to possess stone statues. With a low chuckle, his brother elbowed his side and pointed towards the platform of ministers. "Serves them right," was the cynical comment as Aberforth laughed at the men who ran about like headless chickens. "That's what they get by trying to randomly apply tasks." He scoffed in utter content. "Fools, one and all."

"How did they do this?" Albus asked quietly, watching as finally one curse shocked Voldemort into attention. The humanized stone statue turned and faced the two champions and, with a flick of his wrist, sent them both flying back, hitting the ground painfully.

Aberforth shrugged, emotions under control again. "Magic."

The two teens were on their feet, ready to challenge the monster before them, when the other champions decided to help in as well. The other stone statues laid about the area, crushed into small pieces, a historian's worst nightmare. Voldemort began to move faster, seeing the many others descending on him, and stole a wand from one champion.

Curses were sent. Three of the champions went down fast. Voldemort hissed something, and from his wand came thick and angry black snakes that slithered forward eagerly. The students, momentarily upset at the reptilian appearance, drew back in shock before the girl sent a flame of fire to burn the snakes into oblivion.

The fire spiraled out of control, destroying the snakes but being unleashed with panicky power, it quickly caught onto grass and trees. Smoke was sent up to the sky, and Voldemort had disappeared. In his place was a pile of dust. The magical spell had worn off, leaving only cold stone that hissed before turning black. And Albus, as the champions wearily stood amidst the battlegrounds, could only wonder what his students were doing in France.

"You wondered, perhaps, what Tom's spirit was doing?" Aberforth calmly stated, setting Albus out of any thought for France. The Seer waved a neglect hand towards the battlefield. "He is waiting for any chance whatsoever to return to a body. Even for a few seconds. His spirit is drawn to every possibility." There was a warning in the look Aberforth gave him. "Every single possibility."

*

The world was dizzy with feverish activity. He felt slick sweat run down his face, soak his hair and body and skin--for a blind, panicky moment, he thought it was blood.

Sunlight glistened in the air, faintly red with the approaching sunset, and that light dye cast a shadow on everything in the room. Spilling through large windows, the light was as suspicious as a dark stain. Pristine carpets and rugs became sinister stitches of bloody evidence; the cool pale walls all but gleamed with the bloodied light. Other assorted furniture sets looked strangely mischievous under the dying sun's end.

He didn't remember falling asleep. Nor did he remember ever returning to Malfoy's apartment, which was what he recognized the room to be. Softly getting off of the couch he had been lounging on, Harry glided through the red sunbeams along the room, looking for someone. It was all too still. An eerie feeling pricked at the base of his skull.

He walked around half-undressed, in a sense, because someone had stripped him of his school robes. The theft left Harry feeling surprisingly light, as if freed from an unconscious weight. The idea was just silly, though, and he chided himself for it. Besides, no new freedom of movement could make up for a loss in defense. Somewhere in the folds of his vanished robe's pockets was his wand, and despite new pledges of friendship he didn't feel too secure walking through a Malfoy's residence unarmed.

A floor panel creaked but, turning, Harry only caught a split-second view of a surprised-then-gone house-elf. His heart started pounding even so.

'Relax,' he ordered himself, taking in a deep breath of air to control his heartbeat.

'Or don't,' his mind countered. 'After all, you are rather helpless.'

He grimaced at that truth.

Deciding that mental debates were for another time, Harry continued to look around. Memories from the night before unscrambled themselves, all with the potential to confuse him even more if he hadn't firmly made up his mind on the matter. He wasn't going to put up with being confused any longer.

Now he could remember everything and anything without batting an eye. He could, for instance, remember that _this_ was the room where he first saw Lucius. 

There were no windows here, unlike the room he's waken in, so sun the room had only milky white glow lights hovering near the ceiling instead of being bathed in the glory of a setting. The room was frighteningly cold, bare. Harry looked around curiously, but soon lost interest as all scenery became dull and trivial. 

Carefully remembering, he backtracked, leaving the florescent room, until finally he reached an exit point with something near a smile on his face. The door had been white and was now stained a sickly orange color from one of the windows on the wall.

Just as he touched the knob, it turned under his fingers. For a moment, he was taken off guard, thinking that the door was magically opening itself at a touch. It swung open to reveal a simple explanation: Draco Malfoy, accompanied by a platoon of associates. The near-smile on Harry's face rinsed away as if the breeze of a swinging door was acidic to happiness.

Draco didn't look a bit surprised. If anything, the teen looked a mixture of boredom and cynical amusement. "Ah, Potter." Draco tipped his head magnanimously in acknowledgement. "I've just spoken with my father." Harry tensed slightly at that; the last thing he remembered was walking with the older Malfoy from the gardens and that was hours ago. Who knows what he'd told Draco in that time? "He told me you'd be here."

"Did he put me here?" Harry asked curiously, keeping his tone light. He leaned slightly against the doorway, eyes focused completely on Draco, and so he was slightly startled when his answer came from another source.

"Actually, yes," a girl just behind Draco answered.

Draco looked at her enquiringly. "Spying, Pansy?"

The girl smiled in the way all Slytherins smile: a corner of her lip raised up, and her eyes narrowed slightly, pupils switching searchingly from Draco to Harry as if digging in for a secret. "Why would I be?" she asked, her voice appallingly oily as she continued smiling at Draco. "I only happened to notice your father going up to his room--and imagine how surprised I was at seeing him dragging a Gryffindor up with him!" Her eyes widened in what might have been an attempt at innocence. "And remember, Draco, that I did come up and ask you immediately after."

Harry tried to swallow, only to realize that his throat was completely dried out. He wondered about the last time he had anything to drink, or eat for that matter, then ignored the thought. There were more important things to be thought about. "What time is it?" he asked, his voice a little dry.

"After dinner, if you're hungry," Pansy answered again, and this time Draco gave her a sharper look. She either didn't see it or didn't care. "Curfew's not too far off, and you're Gryffindor friends are looking for you. Is that who you're wondering about?"

The question sounded innocent enough, and Harry almost answered without thought, but then he noticed the way she stressed the word "friend." How she said it, the word came out as a half-slur, a half-insult, and how she was watching him with a strange intensity, was like a cat waiting to see if the mouse would come out and play. Pansy, he recalled abruptly, was the one who had challenged him in Potions not too long ago.

He looked at her for a moment, and found that he couldn't look away as her eyes locked on his. There was a flash of something--worry? relief? triumph? anger?-- in the Slytherin's eyes, here and gone again so fast Harry only had time to register its presence. The slip lasted only a second before all emotions were wiped from Pansy's face like unfortunate mistakes, replaced with false impressions that anyone else would expect to see: wide-eyed expressions of simplicity and shallowness.

Harry's eyes widened slightly, and a cold shudder ran through his body that stood every hair on its end like a jolt of lightening. In that moment of bare contact, Pansy's emotions had been exposed and thrown at Harry like a heavy cloak of blackness, leaving him in no doubt as to what her opinions were.

Pansy smiled at him, and the smile looked more like a revealing of her teeth. "Well, _Harry_?" she asked, her voice dripping and her eyes impossibly wide.

He stared back at her moment, then blinked. "I was actually hungry," he answered neutrally, "not worrying about anyone." Then he looked away, breaking any empathy towards the little witch. He spared a moment to pity the man who underestimated her just because she was a woman; gender aside, she was a Slytherin to the bone.

Glancing back at Draco, Harry found _that_ Slytherin looking back with a particular smirk, and he fought the urge to lash out. Draco had known that Pansy was toying with him, trying to get him to admit... something. Harry still wasn't sure if he had or not, only that there was something going on beyond him and it was beginning to become annoying.

"What is it?" he asked, his tone a little scratchier than he would have preferred but still understandable.

Draco gave him a little half-shrug. Absently, Draco pointed out to a few random students, naming them. "This is Zabini, Potter. And here's Goyle." The list went on to include five more students, but Harry had no intention on ever remembering their names again. He focused on Draco again, wondering what to say or if he had to say anything at that. There was something unspoken between them. Lucius _had_ said something to his son, and now Draco was here to see how much of that was true.

Even though he didn't care about those others, they cared about him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see them watching him. From the way his skin crawled, he knew they were glaring. A Gryffindor in the midst of a Slytherin party? To them, this meeting must be something approaching sacrilege, and Harry wondered with a stab exactly where his robes where. It wouldn't do to be caught weaponless if one of those unnamed faces decided enough was enough and attacked.

These were Slytherins, and all as bad as Pansy showed herself to be. He had to remember that. Had to remember that some (if not all) were children of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters (and even though he was resuming conversations with one of them, it did not mean that he was going to forgive all of them). For all he knew, they were ordered here by their parents to spy on him in order to gain information on his brother-

But that could just be Sirius talking, Harry noted. He swallowed, wondering just how much influence the Auror had gained over the last five years.

Schooling his face to show even less emotion than the Slytherins, Harry asked them what they wanted. He knew the answer, but he didn't want them to know that. Casually and without giving any answer, Draco sauntered in, his peers coming in behind him, and the last one started to push Harry in order to shut the door. 

Instinctively, Harry shoved back, sending the scrawny boy to the floor. Zabini, he remembered distractedly, the name rising up from Draco's information. "Don't touch me," Harry said aloud, his words soft but firm. Then he turned and shut the door himself, using the time to make sure the Slytherin hadn't used the physical contact to plant some spell or jinx.

The silence was deafening, but Harry pretended as if the incident wasn't awkward in the least when he faced Draco with a blank expression. "If you want anything from me, I suggest you answer my question or I'm leaving."

"Leave then," Pansy dared, her skin only the lightest of shades paler. "But you better be careful. McGonagall was looking for you." He couldn't tell whether she was angry or shocked, but either emotion was enough to put a Slytherin on the testy side.

Harry ignored her, keeping his eyes trained on Draco and waiting for that one's answer. Draco was obviously the leader of this little group; all answers would come from him.

"Get off the floor," Draco ordered harshly, sparing the fallen boy a disgusted look. Zabini stood, dusting himself off angrily and glaring at Harry, but when the boy's hand began to zip towards a pocket Draco again spoke. "I didn't give you permission to take out your wand, did I?"

"I don't need your _permission_," Zabini sneered, but his hand froze anyway. The teenager looked furious, and glanced at the others. "In fact, I don't need any of this. What's going on, Malfoy? Why are we talking with..." He didn't even say Harry's name. All he did was toss a glare in the Gryffindor's general direction.

Draco stared back coolly. "Shut up, Zabini," was the only answer before Draco looked away, obviously dismissing the boy. While Zabini sputtered, Draco turned to look at Harry with a disinterested look. "Why should I answer you?"

"Because I told you to," Harry shot back, his anger from earlier rising again. Didn't Draco understand? All he wanted was a straight answer from someone, a simple answer, something he could understand the first time and not trip over.

Eyes narrowing dangerously, Draco said softly, "Is that so, Potter?" He took a half-step forward, coming directly under the path of one of the windows. Red sunlight, grown darker during the last few minutes, stained Draco's skin the same it stained everything, but there was something else added. Harry felt bile rising in his throat; from where Draco stood, it looked like he was covered in blood, like he was bleeding from a pulsing head wound that trailed down the rest of his body.

With that, Harry felt all the anger within him dissolve. He felt all his weariness return and wanted nothing more than to leave. Leo's image drifted into his mind, sending a power jolt of pain and longing through him. He didn't want this anymore.

Harry turned away, leaning again on the wall and closing his eyes. He sighed. "Forget it," he murmured. Then he opened the door and walked out, ignoring whatever it was Draco shouted at him, whatever Pansy said, whatever Zabini might have cursed him with. He walked outside, took a breath of fresh air, and continued walking. The shadows consumed him 

It had been almost a full day since he last had anything to eat, which, to Harry at least, seemed a perfectly good reason to chance walking outside alone minutes before curfew. That of course had been before he saw a goodly number of Gryffindors, lead by the Transfiguration professor, heading his way. Had he noticed only a moment earlier, he would have been able to stay hidden in the shadows, but now he stood fully exposed on one of the glow-globes that lit up Beauxbatons' night campus.

Harry stopped under the clock tower's doorway, stomach growling as if his hunger beast knew food was only a few minutes to the getting, and he sighed knowing that if the group reached him he'd have to stand being hungry a while longer. He waited, unsure of whether he had enough time to get away before they caught him, but then straightened his shoulders and leaned against the building, blank-faced and ready for whatever they wanted to throw at him, hoping his stomach would stop growling.

His eyes, almost of their own will, sought out Hermione's face. He couldn't believe... what he'd said last night, how he acted. Now he watched her in semi-fascination, realizing that his body was tensing up as if waiting for her to explode, as if wanting to see her get upset again. Morbidly, he realized that deep inside he was disappointed by her clam expression. He'd wanted to hurt her last night, just a little, to make her back off, and there was nothing to show for it.

Hermione looked over from were her eyes had been watching McGonagall, and as close as she was Harry could see those eyes widen a fraction. The witch's calm rippled for a single moment then firmed again, but the time was long enough. Barely, Harry's lips tugged up in a satisfied whisper of a smile.

"Mr. Potter." McGonagall drew herself up, as if gathering all the ragged shred of respect Harry still held for her and creating a presence with which she might intimidate. Harry's eyes flickered away from an icy glaring-contest with Hermione to quickly measure his professor up.

'She's not recovered from last night,' Harry noted to himself with silent amusement. Seeing such a formidable lady at a loss for words had been humoring, almost as though he was getting avenged for everything she'd done to him so far and then some.

Indifferently, he let his eyes drift back to Hermione's face. If anything, this blatant disregard for such an esteemed professor upset Hermione more than anything. The teenage witch's lips tightened, her jaw almost audibly clicked together.

Idly, Harry realized that the Gryffindors had cornered him on all sides, even though they stayed a ways back. His staring-contest grown boring, Harry looked around at the classmen who had surrounded him, supplying names where he could and dismissing where he could not. In grand total there were about ten students, all fifth-year and up. Most were hanging back just at the edge of the light, likely only present for moral support as they whispered among themselves. Neville, and the twins stood closest to Ron, who stood closest to Hermione, who stood closest to McGonagall, who stopped an arm's length away from Harry's nose. He could almost feel McGonagall's anger radiating across the short gap that separated them, but continued to ignore her.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall tried again.

Harry didn't look towards her. His eyes had found Ron's. Without blinking, Harry stared at the student, mentally wondering what the other was thinking. The anger last night had been bewildering, and since then they hadn't spoken to each other at all. Since Ron and Hermione were involved, Harry assumed the witch had said something or other about the brief encounter outside the dormitory.

Ron blinked and took a half step back, surprised. He opened his mouth to say-

"Potter!"

Harry's face whipped around and though his expression was still faultlessly blank, he couldn't keep his voice from being a little frigid. "You're beginning to repeat yourself, if you didn't notice."

McGonagall's face flushed slightly in what was undoubtedly anger, but she kept whatever retort or punishment back and said, "Mr. Potter, I have been looking for you all day. Where were you? Where did you go last night? Didn't you learn anything-"

"You mean, did I leave school grounds?" Harry rephrased, his voice successfully neutral. "No, I did not. Though you might find it interesting to know that since I never knew those forests were forbidden, and since I had no prior experience with school rules, I am technically not guilty of breaking any rule." His eyes wandered to Hermione, wondering how she was going to react--wondering more about her forced calm than any anger McGonagall could call up. Would the reasoning make any sense to her?

He wanted to shake his head and narrow his eyes. 'Of course not,' he answered himself. 'To Hermione, rules are rules and there are no exceptions.' His voice was surprisingly bitter, leaving him to wonder why he really cared to begin with.

"I asked you where you were, Potter, not where you were not," McGonagall said, her voice a little icy.

Harry glanced at the professor, debating on how to answer the question, then decided that she really deserved all she had coming for her. He had done nothing to deserve either her respect or disrespect, yet she had been serving out the later in abundant sizes since the start of school.

Shrugging in a deliberately insolent fashion, Harry blandly replied, "On school grounds."

As McGonagall struggled quite visibly too keep cool a student stepped closer. The Head Boy, Harry identified, staring at the seventh-year. The older teen slowed down and then stopped, obviously uncomfortably, and Harry mercifully looked away, choosing to slouch further back on the stone wall behind him. His eyes, half-open and drifting shut, flowed to the ground.

It was dark. The sun had set hours ago, a spectacle he'd only caught by the drags of coloring through windows, and now the only lights were those glowing globes that hung over the doorways of Beauxbatons' buildings like suspended fairies.

"Are you going to give me an answer," McGonagall began, her face pale with rage, "or am I going to have to drag it out?"

There really was no need to get so angry, Harry thought, again amused at his professor's reaction. He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes opening fractionally to barely glimpse McGonagall's expression. "If you need to know, I was with Draco Malfoy and his father. The governor wanted to speak with me."

That drew a list of responses. Harry had lowered his voice so only the closer students could hear, and the three (Ron, Hermione, and the Head Boy) acted identical: eyes widening, soft gasps of surprise, leaning back on their heels as if to escape something. Together they preformed like well-mastered puppets at the reference to the suspect Death Eater.

McGonagall's face froze in a comical expression, as if her features were waiting for her mind to process the latest bit of information. After a time, she drew in a shaky breath, swallowed, and with a strangled voice asked, "About what?"

"That," Harry answered emphatically, "is a private matter."

He felt a wave of dizziness, and the only reason he didn't tumble over was because he was leaning securely against the wall. His knees trembled slightly, a shudder echoed by his entire body. If felt like his stomach, tired of waiting for food, was ready to eat whatever it could find and now attacked his tired muscles. He felt tired. He felt irritable.

The Head Boy stepped forward again, a self-righteous expression on his face. "Now see here," he snapped. "There's no need to be rude."

'There's a perfect reason.' Harry swallowed the comment.

"All we came out here to do was offer you a chance to play on the team," the seventh-year continued. He shot a look at McGonagall, but no help was coming from her; face strangely gray, the deputy headmistress looked too deep in thought to have a strong grip on the present. The Head Boy jabbed a thumb towards Hermione. "Your friend told us how you didn't hear the news, so Auror Moody said it's be all right to let you on the team, 'specially with all the people who wanted you to fly in the first-"

Harry blinked and frowned. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, pushing up from the wall.

"Yesterday, Dumbledore announced that, to keep the underclassmen busy while seventh-years prepared for the Tournament, there'd be a Quidditch Tournament for the schools. We have until Friday to practice, and then it's on to the games. Normally, you'd be disqualified since you didn't show up to the tryouts yesterday, but Moody contacted Dumbledore, who said that if enough students agreed, you could be put in as Seeker, of one of the backup players at least."

"And?" Harry almost frantically glanced away to the other students. "Am I?"

The Head Boy nodded proudly. "Lot of your mates saw you flying before we left Hogwarts, and not all from Gryffindor either. Of course, there are some problems getting the Slytherins to agree to it. Right now, you're backup Seeker, but hopefully tomorrow when you give the school a demonstration-"

"It that it then?" Harry felt a chill run down his back. This whole matter felt too much like manipulation, like someone was trying to force him into doing something. "Do I even get a say in the matter?"

Ron's forehead scrunched up. "What do you mean, a say in the matter? What's left to be said!" He broke out into a sunny grin. "You made the team, Harry!"

Harry turned on his, backing up into the wall to keep the distance between them. The shadows drained the color from his face, but not from his words. "I had no bloody idea that any of this was going on! And now what? Now I get stuck playing some game? Have any of you even considered the fact that I might not want to?"

Looking decidedly confused, Ron stuttered, "N-not want to play? Are you daft!"

"Ron!" Hermione spoke for the first time, touching Ron's shoulder in a pleading manner.

"Why wouldn't you want to play?" the Head Boy asked, perplexed. "Even if it's just a game, there's the school's name on the line, and we need the best players. I know you haven't been at Hogwarts long, but now that you're a student you've got to feel some sort of pride."

Harry resolutely shook his head. "Of course not," he lied, his heart twinging as he remembered the feeling of homecoming Hogwarts seemed to give him, of peace. There was a sense of irrational indignity at the thought of someone insulting such a beautiful castle, but he refused to give in on those grounds alone. "I really don't care what anyone thinks about Hogwarts. Besides, Quidditch is only a game."

"A game that can show that we're the best!" Ron inserted vividly.

McGonagall straightened up, and motioned for the boys to hush as she stared at Harry. Quietly, she informed him, "Your godfather will be informed, Mr. Potter, of the Quidditch game planned here, and that you've been offered a position on our team." She paused dramatically, and Harry felt with a certainty that the witch had thought up some plan to catch him. "How badly, do you think, will Sirius feel knowing that you turned down that position? I think he'll be terribly disappointed and a little hurt. I'm sure he knows your skill at the game."

Harry stared at her for a moment, disbelief written across his face. "You... you think this will make Sirius proud?" he finally said, voice dull.

McGonagall smiled triumphantly, and nodded. "Of course," she answered loftily. "You know how obsessed he is with the game."

Harry's hands clenched into fists, shaking with rage. How dare they try to hit him with that! He hid a bitter smile. Too bad they didn't know that Harry didn't care-

"Not to mention your brother," the Head Boy added, having caught on to McGonagall's form of blackmail. "I hear Leonard's positively wild over the sport."

Harry froze and looked up, a trapped expression on his face. 'Leo...' Leo would be crushed. 

"I..." His words caught in his throat, and he swallowed, having no idea what he could say. Finally, he closed his eyes and let his head drop against his chest, fists still clenched. "I'll play," he conceded in a defeated tone, then looked up, eyes wild with rage. "But don't expect me to be thankful," he nearly hissed before turned around and storming away, away from the dining hall and the clock tower and the spiteful Transfiguration professor.

"Harry!" Hermione called after him, and he held back from sending a curse her way.

He didn't stop when he passed the Hogwarts dormitories, though Ginny was outside, obviously waiting for someone, and tried to catch his attention. He didn't stop until he collapsed under a shaking fit just at the edge of the forest, knees too weak to hold him up anymore. Harry curled up, ignoring hungry stabs, and thought of his brother and then thought of nothing at all.

*

Quidditch practice took up everyone's attention (except for the seventh-years who were excusably practicing other things). With so many schools, the Quidditch fields were scheduled for practices practically every minute of daylight, and then some night sessions were snuck in by the truly obsessed.

Hogwarts was given a prime practice time: after lunch and before dinner every day of the week, the team gathered for their hour slot to practice when the sun, going down, provided just enough light to be a challenge. Two Slytherin Beaters (the twins were suitably upset that they couldn't play, and then suitably upset that they were being replaced by Slytherins), a Ravenclaw Keeper, two Hufflepuff and one Ravenclaw Chasers, and a Gryffindor Seeker. All the houses were being represented, and some students actually resented that fact. Some thought that the whole team should be composed of students entirely of one house.

Choosing a captain was a risky endeavor. Everyone wanted a different person to be captain, and no one could really agree. Finally, it came down to simply good tactics and the Ravenclaw Keeper was picked.

During the practices, everyone came down to watch. Even the seventh-years, who were scolded half-heartedly by professors, stopped their practicing to watch appreciatively the best flyers of the school work together for once. It made for less competition, but then again no one wanted any competition between the flyers until Saturday when they started playing against other teams. It wouldn't do for the Slytherins to purposely knock the Bludgers against their own teammate, no matter that the teammate was Gryffindor.

Even if they did try ("accidents happen," the Beaters explained after one close call, "and he needs the practice") nothing ever touched the Seeker.

And while the underclassmen practiced Quidditch, the seventh-years practiced spells and curses and whatnot, daily adding their names to a mysterious goblet of fire that patiently sat waiting in the dining hall. With every name that was burned, more excitement was added to the school until it felt like things would either come to a head or explode with the pure tension that held measure over Beaxbatons.

*

"Here's how it's going to be," the Keeper explained hurriedly. He glanced at his arm which was almost dripping from the many notes scribbled into flesh. "I just found out what they were hiding--turns out that there's going to be time limits on how long each game lasts."

The small group broke out into groans barely audible over the roar of the crowd waiting just outside the tent.

"Are you serious?" one Chaser asked, voice whiny.

"How are we supposed to play under a clock?"

"Be quiet and listen," the other Ravenclaw chastised, "otherwise we won't know!" She looked calmly at the Keeper. "You were saying?"

"Right." He nodded, but could hardly hide all the nervous energy in every jerky motion. The crowd's noise was getting to all of them, as well as the fact that Hogwarts was one of the schools about to start in the first round. If they won this game, then they could move on to play the second round, and then the third, up to the fifth. With forty-eight countries participating, the sheer number of games was mind-numbing. The fact that losing one game could cost everything was mind-wearing. And all the people watching were simply intimidating.

The Keeper glanced at the notes on his arm, though he'd probably memorized the information when he first heard it. "Time limit's set to be one hour. If the Snitch isn't caught by then, the team ahead in points wins. The Ministries have set up a dozen temporary fields so that half the teams get done with the first round in the first hour, and half the teams play the second."

He wiped at his forehead where a thin layer of sweat had gathered, and looked hard at his team. "This is going to be fast and rough," he advised, "and we have to play our best in each game. Otherwise, we'll lose.

"The first two hours will be round one, then we get an hours break, then every round continues after that with thirty minutes break between games."

"Meaning this will all be over by dinner?" a Beater inferred.

The Keeper nodded, then hesitated and added, "All the rounds except for the final one. That's saved until after dinner."

"Great," a Hufflepuff moaned. "We'll be throwing chunks by then."

A Ravenclaw looked sharply at him. "Who's to say we'll still be playing?" she asked calmly. "We might be out of the game by then."

"Thinking like that's only going to bring bad luck," a Slytherin informed her snidely.

The other Beater looked surprised. "You believe in luck?"

"Of course. Took a class on it in Hogwarts, remember? It might not be luck in the general term, exactly, but it's close enough for me."

"Sounds like you're talking about karma," a Hufflepuff joked.

"Enough!" the Keeper shouted. "Let's keep our minds on the game?"

He conjured up a board full of roaming crosses and noughts. "Here's the game plan," he explained, dragging through scenario after scenario, expanding on certain things he wanted to see happen and certain things that had better not happen. That last part was said with a warning look shot at the Beaters, who pretended not to notice.

A bell buzzed outside, and the Keeper vanished the board, looking out the tent flap. "Almost up," he murmured, softly as if to himself but the rest of the team had gone quiet enough to hear him. He glanced at them. "We start at nine, and there's nearly two minutes left."

"Well, don't start on the moral-boosting speech, already," a Chaser said with a grin. "We're really not in the mood to hear it."

The Keeper spread his arms out with a vague shrug. "What can I say?" he asked rhetorically. "This is going to be like nothing any of us have ever done before. We're going to go out and play against people who don't speak our language--so we can't swear at them--who don't practice our culture--so we won't know if they're swearing at us--and how probably want to beat us down with a passion. "

He ran a hand through his hair. "I say, let's beat them before they beat us. If we lose this match, we're out of the running--but you know that." He gave them all a confident look that was only slightly ruined by the quiver in his body. "We're the best Hogwarts has to offer. Now let's go out there and prove it!"

This time, the bell rang, and among the screams of the crowds the Hogwarts Quidditch team walked outside and into the sunlight. Some dozen voices were announcing, sounding like twisted echoes of each other, but one of the voices was eagerly introducing the team in English. On the other side of the field, another team walked out dressed in different shades of gray. The Hogwarts students had settled on merely black, since no one wanted any one house to be represented more so than the others. The teams walked towards each other to meet in the middle of the field, and when the referee made his comments no one could hear him over the noise.

The message got across, though, whether or not he was speaking English, and soon everyone was mounted on their brooms, watching the Snitch buzz by and waiting for the Quaffle to fly.

The referee looked at the two captains, lowered his hands for a moment, then threw high the Quaffle into the air. Somewhere, a low bang went off, a clock started ticking backwards, and the two teams soared into the sky.

*

"Come on, Ron, let's go look at the scoreboards," Hermione suggested a little hesitantly, not sure what to expect with their fight just barely over. Ron stood up obediently, but from the way his eyes tracked the ongoing game she was sure he didn't hear her. That, or didn't really comprehend her words. Amused, she tugged on his sleeve. "Are you listening?"

"'Course," he answered distractedly, then nearly leaped forward with a hoot as Hogwarts scored. Hermione winced, plugging her ears at the noise; the whole school was on their feet! Glancing around with a raised eyebrow, Hermione rather thought that she should have been used to it by now. The game was getting close to ending, and Hogwarts was in the lead by thirty points, heading the game one hundred twenty to ninety. With twenty minutes left, and with the offence and defense still going strong, the only way the other school could win was by catching the Snitch.

Her eyes flew up to the lone player whose broom floated above everything else by a good distance, and she swallowed, throat going dry. 'Harry...'

"Did you see that, Hermione?" Ron asked excitedly, face wide with cheer. It looked like he was practically shaking. "We've bagged this round!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, shedding her gloom, and gently patted Ron's shoulder. "Calm down, Ron, you're going to have a heart attack."

"Bet they'll think twice about Hogwarts after this," he declared viciously, completely focused on the game.

"I'm sure they will," she agreed sarcastically, grinning. His happiness was infectious. Ron didn't even hear her as he sat back down, eyes wildly zooming from side to side as they followed the Quaffle.

Hermione looked around, ready to sit back down and just wait another ten minutes, but she was getting restless and needed to move around. Ginny, sitting a few seats down, noticed and stood up. "Going somewhere, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head with a rueful smile, poking a finger towards Ron. "Not anytime soon," she explained. "Ron's too caught up in the game to even be thirsty."

Ginny grinned. "He's a boy. They're all like that. Come on, I'm thirsty even if Ron's not."

The two girls carefully threaded their way through the crowd, nearly tripping down the flights of stairs down the stadium, and ended up walking towards the confections stand giggling with laughter.

"I would not have tripped!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly as they got in line.

Ginny gave her a light shove. "Of course you would have," the witch declared wisely. "And you were about to take that whole group of first-years with you if I hadn't caught you." Hermione persistently shook her head, but another voice answered.

"Clumsy as ever, mudblood?" The two slowly turned to see Malfoy waiting behind them, looking impatient as ever. He nodded towards the line before them. "If you're not here to get anything, why don't you get out of the way of people who have money?"

Ginny sniffed, purposely pulling from her pockets a clinking purse, and looked away to move up and order. Hermione did the same, watching Malfoy out of the corner of her eyes and wondering about him. When she began to leave with her drink, she bit her cheek and determinedly moved towards the boy. "Thank you," she uttered, "for helping me look for Harry a while back."

Malfoy looked slightly surprised, and he shrugged. "I wasn't helping you," he answered coldly. "And as I remember, you weren't any help at all."

Hermione flushed. "At least I knew where to look in the first place," she bit back savagely, "and at least I found out where he went. That's more than you knew before you tagged along with me."

"Please, Granger, if you think I wouldn't have found out on my own..." The Slytherin turned away to order, completely tuning her out.

Hermione snorted, irritated, and left to catch up with Ginny. The girl was confused about her sudden absence, but Hermione waved off any concerns and they made it back to the stands in time to hear everyone groan when a score was made against Hogwarts. Hermione quickly checked the clock: only a few minutes left to go. That latest goal had been offset by another Hogwarts point, and the score still stood with Hogwarts leading by thirty.

Suddenly, the lone figure floating above everyone else dove, so fast that for a moment Hermione was sure he'd fallen off his broom. She jumped up. "HARRY!"

Harry didn't stop. His broom only gathered speed as he completed his free-fall all the way to the ground. Players beneath him flew out of the way, staring in bewilderment in his wake until the opposing Beaters got the urge to swing a Bludger his way. Still falling, he was simply too fast for the devil-ball to catch up with.

Almost at the last second, Harry pulled up, going horizontal. The Bludger, speeding behind him, had no such grace and sped into the ground like a meteor, tearing open a gaping wound on the Quidditch field. A few seconds after it disappeared beneath the earth, it burrowed up another way like a departing mole, leaving two holes like eyes in the grass as it tore up after Harry.

The other Seeker picked up his trail as well, zooming in to follow as closely as she dared, but not even she could catch up. Harry sped off, flying from one end of the field to the other and it wasn't until it completed his circuit that everyone realized what he held in his hand.

The Snitch. Hermione whipped her eyes over to the clock: thirty seconds left in the game. When the school joined up to cheer, she screamed louder than Ron.

*

He ate dinner off to the side, partly mixed with other schools and partly by himself, but totally cut off from his team. They were beginning to get annoying, arrogant. Four victories, all times catching the Snitch, had put Hogwarts in the top of the scoreboard for total games.

A glance towards the clock tower showed that he had only some little time left before the next game, and he still was tired.

There was a bit of movement that caught his attention out of the corner of his eyes, and he turned to see Ron, Hermione, and Ginny walking around, talking together but eyes roving everywhere. Quietly, he packed up his things and walked away, moving slowly but determinedly. He would have to find somewhere else to rest.

Hogwarts's student population had scattered about during that last game before dinner. Their team had already won, the Seeker having swooped down in his customary chase that he was now known for only twenty minutes into the game, catching the Snitch before any points had even been scored. The Keeper had confided that this had been the strategy; informers had told the team that the opposing school was merciless, and Hogwarts's only chance was catching the Snitch as early as possible.

Now that it was dinner, there seemed to be some unspoken agreement that all students eat together in the gardens, and when Harry had been dragged in he'd nearly been suffocated. Now that he'd escaped, he had no plans on being pulled into that maelstrom again.

The clock tower exploded in noise, particularly loud since Harry was climbing up its winding steps. He paused, covering his ears until the bell-ringing stopped, shook his head to get the noise out of his ears, and continued up to where the students' owls all perched peacefully. A quick look around showed him everything he wanted to know. Hedwig was still missing. He'd only sent an owl that morning and didn't expect the owl to be back, but there was always room for hope.

Harry sighed and slid his back against the stone wall, leaning forward to drop his head against his knees, eyes lightly closed. 'Leo, what's wrong?' Since the start of school, he'd not received one answer. It was beginning to wear on his mind, all the possibilities of what might have happened. Leo had been hurt, Leo had been hospitalized, Leo had been kidnapped...Leo honestly didn't care about him whatsoever and really didn't want to keep up any form of communication.

That last possibility was like a punch in the gut, dull now that he'd halfway accepted it as truth. That was probably why Leo was so happy to see him off: the little boy was tired of such an overbearing big brother.

Harry leaned his head against the wall, staring up at the owls who all blinked back at him, unnerving him.

When fifteen minutes passed, Harry reluctantly stood and made his way back downstairs, head pounding with weariness. It was almost time for the last game to start, and it felt like all the blood had rushed to his head.

His maneuvered through the crowds of students bustling to get the best seats, and looked for the field where Hogwarts would next have the game. On the way, he saw a few of his teammates heading off in another direction and followed to a black tent with the Hogwarts sigil emblazoned across the front flaps. Entering, he was the last one to come.

"Everyone here?" the Keeper asked, nearly bouncing across the room. Everyone was, and all with bright gins on their faces. Even the Slytherins were being friendly, though that might have been because of the adrenaline rush. "No one feeling ready to choke up, I hope?"

"No," a Chaser answered cheerfully, patting his stomach. "I made sure not to eat too much."

"And if we did, couldn't we use it to our advantage?" another Chaser added.

The Keeper smiled. "Why not? It's not like we're going to lose!" The team all made encouraging sounds, clapping him on. "Look at us! This is the final match. I've, er, taken an opportunity to look around and all the other teams are wimping out. Our competitors are tired. Are we?"

"NO!"

"Are we tired? Are we ready to give up? Are we scared by the other team?"

"NO!"

A bell rang, and the Keeper threw his arm towards the tent flap like a commander pointing the way out to his troops. "Then let's go out there and win once and for all!"

Harry trailed them out silently, swallowing at seeing all the fans gathered around for this final match. Hogwarts versus... versus some school that no one thought fit enough to name and no one thought fit enough to worry about. He slowly joined his team out on the field, mounting his broom on the signal and hoping it wasn't wavering. No one seemed to notice. The Quaffle was thrown, the Chasers went off, and the Bludgers were being herded by vicious Beaters, but Harry stayed floating near the ground.

All day, he'd gone as far up as he could, forcing the limits of his broom, and now he was shivering from the effort. The other Seeker was watching him suspiciously, zooming around the field at a slightly higher altitude but obviously thinking that he was up to something.

Harry caught the look on the Hogwarts's Keeper's face, and reluctantly started to rise into the air. From higher up, he could view everything and keep an eye out from the Snitch. It was just so cold up there.

The sun had begun going down, throwing its remaining light hazardously in the air. Someone scored a goal. Someone was hit by the Bludger. Someone was shouting his name.

At that, Harry looked around in surprise. He's risen higher than before, so high that it was getting difficult to breathe, and everything below him looked odd. His eyes blurred up.

Harry forced slumped shoulders to straighten up and took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. Far below, another goal was scored.

He lost interest in keeping his back straight and leaned forward, almost lying down on his broom as he watched the game play out below him. It was easier that way, being a spectator instead of playing.

A buzzing sound filled his ears like an annoying bee, and Harry swatted his hand absently towards the source of the noise. Fingers touched something soft, jerking him to attention in the realization that the Snitch floated beside him.

"I always wondered where you went during the game," he murmured to the flying gold ball. It dipped a little, almost in response to his words, then resumed floating beside him. Harry looked around, and though he couldn't make out the time, he was sure that ending the game now would be a waste of it. Idly, he leaned back on his broom, watching the Snitch buzz around.

As he wasn't chasing it, the ball seemed perfectly content to drift besides him, occasionally breaking out into odd patterns in the air and occasionally freezing completely except for the flutter of its wings. Harry pushed the hair out of his eyes to watch it, amazed at the speed of the little thing. The only time he ever saw the Snitch during games was in the chasing. Outside of Quidditch, the ball was locked carefully aware to make sure it didn't escape. He never just watched it.

Experimentally, Harry reached out and captured it between his two hands, holding it like a firefly. Its wings hummed against his fingers, ticklish, and he let it go. The Snitch buzzed around him in a circle, and he snorted, reaching out to catch it again. Release, and catch. Release, and catch.

Another goal was scored below, bringing him back to the reality of his situation, and he noticed that the sun was now almost completely gone, taking with it the bright sunbeams. Soon enough, the game would be over.

*

"What in blazes is Potter doing?" someone demanded beside Ginny. "We're losing the whole bloody game."

"It's not like Harry controls the game," she retorted, frowning. "You can stop blaming him at any time."

"What is he doing?" Hermione murmured, looking high into the dimming sky. "He's been up there the whole game."

"Waiting to catch the Snitch, of course," Ron answered informatively. "That's his job right now. Mind you, when he catches sight of the Snitch, he'll be moving 'round quick enough."

"We've all watched the games earlier," Ginny pointed out sulkily, "and we all know what's going to happen. You don't have to act like we're blind."

*

The Snitch might have realized that Harry was now heading to catch it without intent of releasing it, but as it began to dive away Harry's fingers snatched it out of the air. He held his hand closed tightly but without squeezing the ball's tiny wings as he dove through the air.

Players beneath him scattered, and the other Seeker took after him, thinking he'd seen the Snitch. It was the perfect opportunity, and Harry, instead of stopping to show he'd already caught the ball, continued to dive in his trademark move.

As he neared the ground, a spark of gold caught his attention. It was just flittering through the air on the side of his free hand. Automatically, his free hand jerked out to snatch it from the air, and he continued falling, leveling out before hitting the ground. The other Seeker saw the movement as did all the spectators, and the crowds busted into roaring noise.

Harry opened one hand to see what he'd caught on the way down, and nearly fell back in surprise as the Snitch flew out of his hands, wings elegantly folding up around its sphere shape and settling down into the palm of his hands for the referee to see and verify. There was still a humming drum against his fingers in his other hand, but Harry kept it closed, suspicious about what he'd caught while floating high above the field.

The time on the clock read ten minutes left in the game, with Gryffindor behind by eighty points--at least, until Harry caught the Snitch. The numbers changed like falling sand, giving Hogwarts a short lead but meaningful victory.

Before he could become crowded, Harry hurried over to the tent, beating the masses of bodies heading his way, and skipped through the other side of the tent to find some privacy.

Cautiously, he opened his free hand. A small bird, body shaped exactly like the Snitch, looked up at him with red, jewel-like eyes. The Snidget ruffled its golden feathers indignantly, chirped out some birdish call, and flew up in a huff.

*

By the time the game ended, most of the students were groaning. Only ten minutes to catch up, to make up for an eighty-point lead? Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. And what was that bloody Potter boy doing? Looking for a nosebleed? But now... now everyone was wondering where he was going, but hardly giving much care to the matter. The game was won, the day was over, and the party was going to start.

Draco lounged back in his chair as the area around him exploded in noise, keeping his eyes focused on the teenager who dropped out of the sky like a crashing ball. When Potter took off, Draco mentally noted to himself that once everyone returned to Hogwarts, Potter would have to be cornered and taught not to run off so easily.

He stood, languidly stretching sleepy muscles, then glanced meaningfully at his companions. Pansy looked up at him appeasingly, but he wasn't in the mood to be pampered. He wanted to make sure Potter wasn't going to avoid him like he had been avoiding the rest of the school. Not too many people noticed, but Draco noticed everything.

"Let's go," he ordered sharply, and the few people with him stood, gazing longingly towards the field where a party was starting but knowing better than to disobey a direct order.

Zabini, who'd been sulking all week, fell in line beside Draco and was looking suspiciously pleased. The sneer on the boy's face couldn't mean anything good, but Draco wasn't in the mood to be malicious. Let Zabini keep plans to himself for once, and let Draco keep plans to himself as usual. 

Of all the Slytherins unhappy with Draco's decision to begin consorting with Potter, Zabini was the worst but even Zabini was firmly under Draco's control.

His group was small, all the more so for easy sneaking around the school. Zabini and Pansy followed loyally, Crabbe and Goyle stupidly. Occasionally, Tracey Davis or Malcolm Baddock tried to come along, but rarely was anyone else of high enough status to join him on his sneakings.

Draco ducked into the tent and immediately backed off with a curse as something small and yellow flew into his face, chirping before flying off. He swatted at the air, glaring around to try and see what had attacked him, but nothing came into view. "What was that?" he demanded of the four following him. "Did anyone see it?" They all shook their heads dully.

Draco frowned with annoyance, and causally waved his hand at them. "You all wait here. I've got to talk with Potter." Zabini's mouth tightened, but Draco didn't care. He opened the tent flap again and walked in.

Draco had imagined that Potter would be, well, collapsed somewhere. The rest of the team had had a good refuel of Pepper-Up Potion after dinner, but Potter had vanished and an all-day workout of Quidditch wasn't exactly easy to get through. But as Draco looked around, he found the tent empty of all personas. The only evidence that Potter had even come through here--as Draco _knew_ he had--was a slight ruffling of the tent's far wall.

Draco stalked to the cloth wall, nearly ripping up the tent's supports as he pulled the material up and walked beneath. The crowds were a dulled background noise, a distraction great enough that Draco nearly missed seeing footprints leading away from the tent. Frowning again, he followed the faint trail, squinting to get moonlight for assistance.

The prints led right up to a trodden path, but by then Draco had caught sight of Potter and didn't need to follow vague trails. The boy was turning up towards the clock tower. Jaw set, Draco followed, having no idea really what he wanted to say to the boy if anything was necessary to say at all.

"Potter," he called out, stopping the teen before he went into the tower. Potter looked surprised, but that emotion disappeared from his face soon enough. Taking his time, Draco walked up to the boy. "Decide not to join the rest of us?" he asked, voice drawling. "They'll be missing you soon enough."

"I doubt it," Potter answered firmly, "and if they do, I don't care."

"They'll be announcing the school champions tonight," Draco reminded, suddenly remembering that fact himself. He looked towards the Quidditch field. "Aren't you the least bit curious?"

"No."

Draco raised an eyebrow, and found what he wanted to say: nothing at all. This boy was still too much of a mystery to either matter or not matter. Despite the fact that his father had all but forced Potter to spend the week sleeping in the governors' apartments, despite the fact that his father had gave up revelation after revelation about Potter, and despite the fact that Draco had been closely observing the boy for some time now, there were still no definite statements Draco could say. He shrugged, then, and turned away. "I'm sure you'll find out sooner or later."

As he started to go, Potter cleared his throat. Looking back, the teenager looked visibly uneasy.

"Draco," Potter began, hesitantly, "is there any way that your father... could get some information for me?"

Now this was interesting. Draco paused and made a show of considering. "What kind of information?"

"About my brother. I haven't heard from him."

"You want me to ask my father about _your_ brother?" Draco repeated incredulously. He narrowed his eyes. "Do you know what people will think if my father begins asking about Leonard Potter?" He let that stew for a moment, then added, "He could, but it will cost you."

Potter closed his eyes. The clock tower's light bleached the color from him until he looked more ghostlike than alive, but when he opened his eyes again Draco was startled to realize that Potter's green eyes weren't the least bit affected. They were still brilliantly colored, almost defiantly so. "What will it cost?"

"You tell me," Draco shot out quickly. "Tell me anything I want to know." The plan had formulated itself on the spot, an instant shining of genius, and from the expression on Potter's face there were a lot of secrets to be had. "If you agree to answer my questions, then I'll have my father find out anything that's happened to your brother since you left. You'll know about every interview, every haircut, or even every time someone tried to sneak onto your property."

There was a faint scar on Potter's forehead as the boy resignedly dropped his chin down, upsetting his messy hair. It looked something like a lightening bolt, but Draco had hardly anytime to really see it. His mind mentioned something about an article stating that Harry Potter did have a scar, but it came from some unimportant curse likely suffered the night his parents die. That article had only mentioned that fact to point out the differences between the two brothers: where one suffered hideous scarring from magical weakness, the other came through that night without a bruise to his name.

Potter stared at him as if dissecting every aspect of the agreement, but finally nodded faintly. "Agreed," he murmured, "with one exception."

"I don't do exceptions," Draco shot back.

Green eyes narrowing, Potter ignored that last statement to continue, "I will answer anything you ask, and I'll be honest about it, if you give me one time to avoid one question--and by avoid, I mean I won't have to answer any question that you try to sneak on the subject."

Potter didn't even wait to see if he agreed to this. The teen merely started walking away, with whatever purpose he had in going to the tower in the first place nullified. Draco suspected, more than suspected, that Potter was worrying about his brother.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked, more an experiment to see if Potter would really hold true to his word.

Pausing, the Gryffindor considered this. "Away from here," he finally answered.

Draco frowned, pacing to catch up with Potter. "That's not an answer."

"It sounded like one to me."

"You agreed-"

"I answered your question," Potter interrupted. He motioned towards the clock tower. "I'm going away from the clock tower, which is the truth." He half-shrugged. "If you want another answer, ask better questions."

He started walking again, leaving Draco seriously irritated. True, the bargain said nothing about specific answers, but... "Where exactly are you going?" he tried again, keeping his voice from broadcasting his anger.

"I really have no idea," came the answer. Just as Draco narrowed his eyes, the teen added, "But I was thinking that I could spend my last night in France off school grounds."

"Going into the forest again, are you?"

Potter nodded.

Draco thought about this for a moment, then mentally shrugged to himself. Go with Potter, get some answers where no one else will hear. He had no doubt that the group he left waiting outside the tent was looking for him without showing themselves. They'd never think about going into the forest.

"I'm going with you, then."

The Gryffindor nodded again, almost expectantly, and looked around. "I'm going to do something, so they can't track us down in case they realize we're missing."

Draco listened up, interested. "And that is?"

Potter's eyes glittered with something vaguely resembling amusement, the first hint of emotion Draco had seen all evening. "I'd answer you, but a demonstration would be much better."

He'd settle for that, and then drag the full answer out once they were gone. Eyes drifting up to the moon, Draco muttered, "I hope you have something against dark creatures." He didn't need to look at the Gryffindor to see the boy nod again.

*

"Headmasters," the French Minister, who was currently Master of Ceremonies, nodded to the group of wizards and witches all sitting at a special table, "I want to thank you for participating here today, for allowing international relationships to prosper. The Goblet needs only a few more moments."

His words sparkled off tense and nervous energy through the crowds gathered on the Quidditch field, all staring excitedly at the golden chalice. The party had drowned out now that it was nearly midnight, but no one was tired. If anything, everyone was feeling more alive than they had all week. The Quidditch Tournament had rocketed emotions and expectations until it had reached this point: the choosing of the champions.

The goblet, the only source of light now as the sun fully faded hours ago and the thousands of candles lit for the party were hissed out, seemed to hum with power, its blue-white flames licking the air, tasting it and acquiring a fondness for whatever it devoured. As the Minister motioned towards it, the flames turned a sudden red, almost violent compared to the peaceful blue hues before. Its charged flames now spread, reaching higher into the air. For a moment, it seemed that a full-out fire would soon emerge, claiming them all for its victims. 

But instead the fires spat out a singed piece of paper before shrinking back to its peaceful blue, as though the parchment had so enraged it.

The Minister reached out a hand and caught the paper, holding it up and scanning it with a tight smile. He looked up and held the paper out. "The champion for the school of Albania is... Sonila-"

"-for France is... Pierre-"

"-Poland is... Tara-"

"-champion for the Ukraine is... Rita Kranstine"

The cheering reached new heights as the Ukrainians jumped up, some cheering, some crying, some holding others back from going out and socking the chosen girl as she smiled and waved. She followed the champions before her onto a platform to be seen by all the students, whether with awe or envy.

The fire died down, turning blue and looking like it was visible struggling to reject the last piece of parchment. Its last few flames were going out and a horrified Lee had voiced the question everyone feared: What if it went out before it got to Hogwarts? But, as the fire struggled, it looked like it just might make it.

Just maybe. Just perhaps. But, just as some extra luck, the Hogwarts students all began to wish their magic into the flame, hoping that their good thoughts would give it the strength to give out one last piece of paper, one last champion.

Another flame went out and now, only a single bit of blue fire yet burned, and from what the stars gave to light the area, it looked like everyone else was anxious to see if Hogwarts would even _get_ a champion this year. Some schools looked as horrified as Hogwarts did, horrified that they might not get the chance to compete against the so-called best school in the world, the school that had already won the Quidditch games. Others looked relieved for that same reason, while others gloated, thinking that perhaps no one was strong enough this year to compete against them, that their school was ultimately better than Hogwarts with all its comfy traditions.

But then... just when they were afraid/eager to see the last flame go out, it turned a pitiful red and spat out the last of the parchments, dying before the minister could see the words on the paper.

The Minister chuckled. "No matter," he said to the darkened Quidditch field, snapping his fingers again and a thousand floating candles relit themselves. There was some nervous laughter and the Minister looked down.

Whatever eagerness or anxiety the Hogwarts students felt at getting their champion, it doubled as the Minister paled and his eyes widened. He swallowed, blinked, and read again but didn't get the desired results for he paled even greater, all blood rushed from his face. He looked up and called out in French to someone. That someone came up and, in front of the whole school, read the parchment and paled just as the minister had done. They began to argue, the other man gesturing angrily to the paper while the Minister pleaded. There was a scramble to the French translators, or to anyone who spoke French, but the argument was too soft to be heard and everyone waited in suspense.

"Don't keep us all waiting," Minister Fudge smiled nervously from his spot and the other Ministers sent out similar comments. "I for one would like to know who my country's champion will be." The governors sitting at a table not too far away looked similarly interested. Lucius Malfoy looked anticipative.

"_C'est impossible_," the French Minister muttered to himself, loud enough to be heard. His advisor nodded in agreement but whispered something then left, going back to his seat. He cleared his throat and looked to the table the Hogwarts students sat at, scanning their ranks but not seeing what he looked for because his face fell. "Z-ze champion for 'ogwarts iz... iz..." he croaked, voice heavily accented.

"...'arry Potter."

*

"Well, I knew the boy would do something," Minerva sniffed, wrapping her hands around the cup of tea as she looked out into the night sky. "I knew he was bound to cause trouble. I go out of my way to let him on the team, and now this!" She motioned to the group of Ministers, all arguing with spit and insults flying. "I warned Alastor, warned him that first time Potter disappeared that he wasn't to be trusted."

At her side, Severus raised an eyebrow. "Warned him?" he murmured softly, stirring his own cup of tea. "What exactly is it about the boy that you find so threatening?" His students had passed on rumors that Potter had had some sort of confrontation, but Severus doubted a teenage boy could come up with something more than Minerva could handle. Much as he hated to admit it, the grown witch was quite successful about keeping in control of things.

It was late now, with absolutely no sign of the boy everyone was searching for. Severus carefully watched the arguing Ministers. Three had threatened to withdraw, claiming Hogwarts must have cheated to allow a minor to participate. He didn't know why they were bothering, really; had it been him in the situation, he'd be ecstatic at such an advantage. Seventeen-year-olds with seven years of education (or more, depending on the school) facing off against a fifteen-year-old whose only claim to fame was a powerful younger brother. The odds didn't match up, and were falling heavily against Potter.

But he wasn't in that situation. As it were, he was still trying to figure out how Potter had done it. He hadn't even known Potter had _wanted_ to be at Hogwarts, much less become a champion for it.

She looked at him as if wondering why he had to ask. "Really, Severus," she chided, "what else can you expect from a boy who's been living with Sirius Black of all people? Or a boy who cuts the first four years of his education? Or someone _who's already proven he holds no respect for anyone?!_"

"Oh really? Do you fear the same from Leonard Potter?" he asked, keeping the amusement out of his voice. "_He_, after all, is also being raised by Sirius Back." 

'A respect issue, was it?' he mused to himself, watching the witch. 'Minerva, you're letting something go to your head.'

Minerva started, then stuttered, "Of-of course not." She paused to reflect on the issue. "Leonard Potter won't be stunted in the way Harry has. Sirius Black is under complete Ministry observation, and won't be able to do as he pleases with the world's savior. Besides, Leonard won't have to go through the same things Harry must have had to, living with James and Lily..."

"You seem to have this on good authority." He leaned back in his chair, focusing all his attention on the professor beside him in sudden interest. "I had it believed that the Ministry didn't allow anyone near the Black residence without prior approval." His eyes narrowed the slightest. "And I know that lately they haven't allowed anyone outside the Ministry near the boy."

"What are you getting at, Severus?" Minerva asked in mocking ignorance.

Severus' eyes widened. "Minerva, are you saying that there is someone trespassing on the boy's grounds?"

She smiled lightly, greatly amused herself at knowing something that the former spy didn't, and then looked up in surprise, her eyes focusing on someone behind Severus. "Oh, hello Alastor. I didn't realize you were up." She motioned to her own cup of steaming tea. "Would you like some tea?"

"No," the professor replied gruffly, knocking on the small carton of juice he carried on his hip. "I only drink what I brew."

She flushed the slightest. "Ah, that's right. I'd forgotten."

Alastor took a seat, magical eyes swirling to lock on the arguing ministers, and he let out a deep chuckle. "Still fighting, then? Like cats over spilled milk--they can't figure out if they should be happy or mad."

Severus nodded slowly, letting his own eye drift to the scene again as he decided to question Minerva later about her spy on the Potter boy. "What do you think?" he asked to craggy professor. "What did Potter do to get across the age line?"

Alastor turned to look at him, though his magical eye stayed hung on the ministers, and Severus fought the urge to shudder at the brief look his eyes held. It happened every time: the professor would look at him with the faintest disgust, the faintest hate, then his expression would fade away. It was to be expected, of course. Alastor had been the best Auror the Ministry had ever had, and Aurors never trusted former Death Eaters--even ones turned spy. "It's obvious, and I've said it before" the Auror announced, the many scars on his face standing out in the bad evening light. " Someone's trying to kill the boy."

"Why?" Minerva was the first to react to the blunt statement. Alastor had been sprouting the same outrageous statement the entire night as Aurors searched high and low for the missing boy, and she was completely put off. What a suggestion! Her eyebrows drawn, she asked again, "Why would someone want to kill Potter? You've already said the tasks were difficult, a perfect opportunity… but why would anyone want to harm a student?"

Alastor shrugged, but then replied, "To get to his brother, I think. What better way to get at the Boy Who Lived than going after his brother?"

It did make sense, Severus had to admit to himself in the silence that followed, made sense in a twisted way. But then again, he thought as his lips turned up in a dark grin, twisted ways are the ways of the Death Eater. He allowed himself a last swallow of tea then stood, pushing the cup away. 

"Where do you think he is now, Potter I mean?" Minerva asked. "You don't suppose he's gone back into the forest." 

And tonight was a full moon, to add to it. With werewolves screaming in the distance and Albus gone, no one could get the Aurors to search through those dark woods.

"Probably somewhere no one can find him," came the cryptic reply. "I heard how he was brought up, always knowing somewhere to run to when it was time to run." The scarred teacher grunted in what could be a laugh. "The question is, then, what was he running from?" But the tone of his voice, to Severus at least, made the question sound already answered. Alastor knew something, that much Severus was sure of.

"Are you saying that Potter disappearing is, in fact, a good thing?" Snape asked, carefully voicing the question.

The Auror shrugged. "Probably picked up the scent of someone following him, and took off."

Snape said his "good evening"s and headed off, carefully keeping one last bit of information to himself. Potter was missing, and so was Draco Malfoy. He didn't think it was a coincidence. Nor did he think it coincidental that Potter's owl couldn't find him. The Aurors had dispatched the creature after it flew back in not an hour ago, but the owl failed just as all magical tracers on Potter failed. Something was keeping the boy from being found, and Severus didn't want to spend too much time dwelling on it. 

He was having trouble enough trying to figure out why Lucius Malfoy was completely unconcerned that his only son was missing.

*

They came back the following morning at different times, each agreeing that it'd be less suspicious that way. Harry didn't think that anyone noticed they were missing, but admitted that it wouldn't hurt to be cautious. Draco just wanted to be cautious, and so he went in first.

Of course, that all went sky-high at the fuss everyone kicked up when Harry walked in fifteen minutes later. He could do nothing in the face of the celebration that followed the discovery of the missing champion--in fact, he hardly understood what was going on, not until he finally realized what they were shouting. Students cheered him on, patting his back, throwing questions in his face, and dragged him over to a seat where, slowly, the noise died down as everyone else not immediately next to him lost interest. He felt like being sick.

Ron and Hermione, seeing him enter the room, where the quickest to get him to a seat. How they thought they were now his friends was beyond Harry. He stayed silent, examining his hands, waiting for some way of escape to show itself. He couldn't just get up and leave. From the looks of the Aurors waiting by the door, and from the professors glaring down at him a few seats away, and attempt at escape would only land him in deeper water. The only reason they didn't nab him now was because it would be too public.

"It's true, Harry." Hermione picked at her breakfast as the situation calmed, casting side-glances towards Harry, who had gone very white under his tan.

Ron, on his other side, jostled the table as he excitedly repeated Hermione's confirmation. "You should've been there, mate. When they called out your name and everyone realized you were gone... You really know how to make history, don't you?" Ron took a bite of sausage and added, "They'll probably say your little brother had something to do with all this, like he's powering you up or something."

When he speared another sausage, Ron had no idea of knowing that his prediction was true; even as he spoke the words, reporters were clamoring at Sirius' door, asking whether Leo had anything to do with his brother's fortune and demanding answers.

"That's not possible," Hermione countered loftily. "I've read that only an extremely powerful wizard could... well, maybe it's possible for Leo," she conceded as the words from her mouth reached her ears. "He is supposed to be very powerful."

Ron raised an eyebrow as though to say, 'Naw, really?'

Harry looked back down to the plate of food someone had stuffed in front of his face, and his stomach rolled in revulsion, daring him to eat something. Losing even more color, he pushed the plate away.

"What's the problem, Potter?" The drawl came from several seats down where Draco was studying Harry with a blank expression. "Not hungry? Or do you just dislike the food?"

"Ignore him," Hermione advised Harry, though only Ron was affected by the taunt. "After all, he'll be gone by the end of the day."

"The end of the--blimey, I forgot all about that." Ron chewed his food thoughtfully. "We all get shipped back to Hogwarts. Unless you want to invite us to stay, of course." His voice was disinterested, but his eyes were practically begging Harry. "You'll have a bloody good time without that Malfoy git hanging around."

"I don't understand it, really," Hermione admitted after a moment. "He's always been nasty to everyone, making fun of anyone he thinks is lower than him and always flaunting his wealth, but he's gotten much worse."

"Probably you, Harry," Ron observed, sneaking a glance over to the Slytherin. "I mean, everyone knows his dad's a Death Eater-"

"Ron!" Hermione's face paled and she glanced at Draco as if scared he might have heard. "You know that's just a rumor." 

Ron shook his head. "No, it's true. My dad told me so, and he works with the Ministry. So Malfoy's angry 'cause your brother killed... well, you know who he killed." Ron glanced back over to the Slytherin and Draco, as if hearing the conversation, slowly turned to stare back at Ron. Ron flushed and ducked his head.

The look on Draco's face was understandable enough for Harry: talk afterwards. He nodded slightly, and Draco looked away, immersing himself in the Slytherin conversation and presumable finding excuses for his disappearance.

"Harry, how did you get past the Age Line?" Hermione asked after a pause in the conversation. "I mean, your brother's not really helping you, is he?"

Harry shook his head, glad for the distraction from his own thoughts. "I don't know. The only time I was near the Goblet was when I ate," he answered truthfully, too shell-shocked to keep up the silence.

"You mean, you didn't put your name in?" Ron asked, taken aback. "Then how?"

"The only way you could get your name entered is if you put your name in or if a professor put it in for you," Hermione informed them. "You don't think a professor put your name in, do you?"

The possibility... 

Harry's eyes scanned the Hogwarts professors' faces. All the teachers were immersed in dialogue, paying scant attention to him though he was probably the object of their conversation. Dumbledore wasn't sitting among them, nor was he sitting with the other headmasters.

"I don't think so," Ron answered for him. "They were all surprised-"

"Everyone was surprised," Hermione corrected. "See, the Age Line was supposed to be uncrossable."

"Fred and George couldn't get by it last year," Ron added in agreement. "They tried everything but ended up getting sent to the hospital wing with beards reaching down to the floor."

Hermione's intelligent eyes scanned the room. "I wonder..." She looked back to Harry. "Last night was havoc. When your name came out, a lot of champions complained that you weren't old enough, weren't experienced enough to compete. They acted like having you as the Hogwarts champion was a personal insult to their intelligence. The only reason some of them stayed is because of the contract."

"Contract?" Harry asked, feeling stupidly ignorant. The feeling of being trapped, being manipulated was coming back. "There's a contract?"

Ron nodded. "It's to prevent anyone from running away. That means you're stuck, too."

"That's what McGonagall said," Hermione agreed. "She said that even if the other champions were insulted, they had no choice and neither did you."

Harry placed his elbows where his plate had been and leaned on them, mind racing with possibilities and face taking on a thoughtful expression. "But why would someone enter me?" he asked at last. "This is my first year at Hogwarts. None of the professors would have a reason to cheat, just to put my name in. They don't know me well enough."

"Mad-Eye reckons someone's trying to do you in," Ron told him, taking another bite of breakfast. At Harry's look, the redhead nodded. "Yea, you should've heard him last night. Going on about how dangerous the tasks have to be and how someone's probably out for revenge against Leonard by going through you."

"It's nonsense," Hermione opinioned. "Even if the tasks are dangerous, there are more than enough professors around to protect you, so you don't have to worry."

Harry glanced back to the professors and, to his disturbance, saw Professor Moody staring right back at him. After that, not even the threat of ambushing Aurors could keep him in there. A moment later, Harry got up and walked towards door, ignoring Ron and Hermione's calls. Draco was probably watching him, too.

An Auror blocked his way, the same one that had spoken to him nights ago. "You disappeared again, Potter."

"I did," Harry admitted, falling back against the stone so that other students could walk by. "But I think that's your problem, not mine."

"Come again?"

"What would happen if I told the Ministry that I wanted to test your protection?" Harry proposed. His way through this obstacle had already been carefully planned out, and he knew that the Auror would prove no problem if things went smoothly. "That I was worried at how easily you lost me a few days ago, and that I wanted to see if your security had improved? My godfather will make me up on this. He'll say I'm fully within my own rights."

The Auror tensed up. "You do that, kid, and you'll create a group a vigilantes who want to 'test' the system for themselves."

"Again, not my problem," Harry bit back, not caring whether his hate for Aurors shined through. "You couldn't track me, not even after having faced the situation beforehand. It's a good thing we're living in peaceful times, all the good Aurors have retired." Not that there was such a thing as a good Auror to begin with.

Ginny, coming up behind him, gently touched him on the arm. "I need to talk to you," the Gryffindor witch muttered softly, low enough that no one else heard.

Harry gave the Auror one last look and walked off, silently tensed with the fear that his bluff would be called, and easing up only when he was a good ways away. Ginny was waiting for him, and curiously, Harry walked over to see what she wanted to talk about. They were a ways away from anyone else, almost as if a private bubble had blocked them out from the rest of the world.

'Maybe her brother sent her,' Harry thought darkly, eyeing the girl with suspicion. The only people nowadays who seemed above suspicion were... frighteningly enough, Harry realized that aside from Lucius Malfoy and Leo, he wasn't too prepared to accept what else anyone told him.

She looked unsure of herself, which was odd. Ginny Weasley, as far as Harry could tell, was rarely hesitant. Living with six older brothers and a childhood of war did that to a person. She wasn't overly-bubbly like some girls, overly-forward or brazen, but she wasn't completely timid either. It was like she possessed within herself a self-confidence that was hard to break.

For a while, he just watched her, waiting for her to gather up the courage to speak and counting down an appropriate time limit until he walked off.

Quietly, Ginny finally said, "I've been meaning to talk to you since last night, when you disappeared. It's because I, I just realized something important that you and me have in common, Harry."

That was interesting. Harry tilted his head to the side. "In common? Are your parents dead, Ginny? Have you been completely separated from your family? Are you being pushed into doing things you don't want to do? What exactly do we have in common?"

Flushed, Ginny shook her head. "None of that, I know, but... well, I know how you must be feeling about your brother getting all the spotlight. I mean, I grew up with everything in my life completely centered on how my brothers did in life." 

Her voice took on a mocking tone. "It was always, 'Ginny, be like Bill. Everyone likes him, they want to be around him,' or 'Be like Charlie. He's brave, a Gryffindor through and through.' 'Percy's smart and dedicated.' 'The twins...' All right, my mom didn't want me to grow up being like the twins, but then I'd have to be like Ron because Ron's so wonderful in his own way."

She shook her head ruefully. "The point is that I know what it's like being pushed away because everyone's so concerned about your brother and not you. I know how you must feel when everyone thinks that you're never going to measure up to someone else, or else they're _always_ measuring you against that person and you're _always_ coming up short."

She snorted. "I mean, yesterday after the games everyone went on about how awesome Leonard must fly, and this morning everyone was saying that Leonard has to be helping you somehow because you'd never get anywhere on you own."

After she stopped talking, Harry found that he couldn't breath. When he could, his voice came out hoarse and rusty. "That's not the way it is, Ginny."

"It's ok, Harry-"

"No, you don't understand!" He took a step back, glaring at her. "Me, jealous of Leo? How--Why--I could never be! Leo, he's just..." He threw his hands in the air. "Leo isn't like your brothers. He doesn't steal the spotlight, he doesn't make me feel unloved or anything like that."

"I never said my brothers made me feel unloved," Ginny shot back, horrified.

"You don't understand," Harry repeated, feeling like some restraint was coming off. How dare she? How dare she insult Leo, go after him like that? "How could Leo steal the spotlight? He... He _is_ the spotlight. He's the reason I lived at all five years ago. Without him, I wouldn't be anything. If he'd never been born, then I probably wouldn't be alive right now."

His hands swung into fists. "Leo means everything to me. He's better than I'll ever be, and I know that. He's doing things that I'll never do, and I know that. Do you have any idea how much I hate being here? It's because I don't know if Leo is safe, and I don't know if Leo loves me anymore. He... he sent me away! Sirius could be telling him right now that I hate him, and he'd believe it! Why wouldn't he, if I can't tell him otherwise?"

Ginny looked like she just realized her mistake, and her face was going pale. "Harry..."

"You realized that you're not your brothers, right?" Harry demanded. "You've gotten over the fact that you'll never measure up to them in certain areas, right? For me, _that was never an issue_! I knew that the day he was born, the day my mother told me he was my brother. I knew that the morning I woke up and realized my parents were dead, realized he was all I had left in the world. I knew that he'd be more than I could ever hope to be."

"You'll never measure up to Leo because you can't see that you're beyond him!" Ginny shouted at him. She jabbed a finger against her chest. "It's the same way with me, Harry. Can't you see? I practically worshipped my brothers until I realized they weren't perfect, and I wasn't condemned to be less then them. You need to see that, too!"

She rubbed her forehead. "It's the exact same thing, Harry. I don't know when I realized it, but this morning I woke up and I just knew. You... Merlin, you need to realize that Leo isn't perfect."

"Leo isn't," Harry readily admitted, "but he's more perfect than I'll ever be."

"Harry, it isn't a matter of degrees of perfection. It's a matter of whether you'll ever be able to admit that you're better than him in some things. Just try to admit that. You're practically a decade older than him. You've got knowledge of things Leo couldn't possible comprehend."

"Like death," Harry admitted sarcastically, "and betrayal. What lovely subjects to excel in."

"Like memories of your parents," she reviewed. "You know things about them that Leo, if you tell him, couldn't see the significance of. How many times do you think of your parents? How many times does he? There's a difference. And flying--does Leo-"

"Leo's a child," Harry interrupted. "You're telling me to compare myself to a child." He shook his head. "I'm not egotistic or arrogant. I don't need to put others down to make myself feel better about me. Why would I compare myself to Leo when I know he won't measure up?"

"You see?" she cried triumphantly.

"He won't measure up now," Harry qualified, "but he will surpass me."

"Are you so sure?" Ginny didn't let up. Her eyes begged him to just give in. "Think about yourself, Harry. When you were a child, what could you do? There are things that you could do then that Leo can't now. Differences because of the way you two were brought up."

"What do you want me to say?" Harry nearly snarled. "That I'm stronger magically? You want me to face off against the world's savior, the prophesied second son? I've read the newspaper, too, Ginny, I lived with him his whole life, and I know that I'll stand no chance against him."

"Not even a Boy Who Lived is unapproachable," she vowed. "If you just think about it-"

"So you want me to tell you-"

"You don't have to tell me anything, Harry," she cut in softly. "You just have to tell yourself."

For a moment, Harry glared at her. The nearby area was empty of anyone else, and Harry glared at her. "Will it make you feel better?" he asked, voice unnaturally soft. "Will it make you feel better to know that I was an animagus, even though Leo has no idea what that is? That I was doing second- and third-year spells that Leo couldn't even pronounce? Would you care to know that, when I was six, I spent my nights alone while my parents sneaked around behind Voldemort's back, or that I spent my days alone while my parents sneaked around the Ministry's back? That by six, my only friends were Death Eaters. That I hated Aurors, spent time with werewolves, and hid out from Hit Wizards? Or that by then my parents were on the most-wanted list and we spent our time looking for a new house to live in so that when they caught us, we could take off?"

His voice was still low, but Ginny's face had lost all its color.

"When I was six," Harry went on darkly, "the Ministry cornered my parents at the apartment we were living at. My dad distracted them while my mom tried to get us out, but I was there long enough to hear them throw the Cruticus Curse on him. The only reason he got away was because Death Eaters showed up--not a good thing, when they're the enemy.

"When I was six, I was wondering through the woods alone and was nearly bitten by a vampire, and the only reason I'm still alive is because Death Eaters showed up. I saw an Auror execute a _criminal_ while Death Eaters laughed, because the criminal was really a spy for the Ministry. I saw my mother get harassed by an old friend, who then tried to contact the Ministry. I started learning about the Dark Arts because I despised the Ministry."

His green eyes caught hers and didn't let go. "I don't know about you," he whispered, "but if these are the things I surpass Leo in, I would rather that he never try to compete with me. I would rather take the fall for Leo, then ever see him begin to trip."

"If you do that, Harry," Ginny answered solemnly, "then the only thing you'll ever do in life is sink."

Harry nodded wisely. "It will be enough for me."

The area was completely still, and for some reason Harry's mind continued bringing up the image of the Snidget caught in his hands. Right before it had flown away, Harry had seen how his tight grip had affected the endangered bird: its golden wings were wrinkled, pinched almost to the point of being broken, its eyes were looking at him in betrayal of the game they'd played. The image reminded him of the feeling he kept having, of someone manipulating him. He'd manipulated the bird into believing itself safe, and then nearly crushed it in return.

'Hypocrite,' he steamed at himself.

"It won't be enough for Leo," Ginny murmured. She touched his sleeve. "You have to believe me, Harry. He's going to grow up believing that people are only there for him. He'll be a child forever. He'll always want more from you until it's no longer to take the fall for him, but to stand back and watch him destroy himself. And if you don't show him, no one will because he won't listen to anyone else."

Harry stared at her, horror slowly dawning in his eyes as all the things he'd said repeated themselves in his mind. Roughly, he grabbed her arm, not caring how tight his grip was. "Don't ever say that about Leo," he hissed, "and don't ever tell anyone..." 'tell anyone my secrets.' His mind was in a panic, and he knew that if anyone had been listening in, had heard, then there would be trouble for him, reflecting back on Leo.

Ginny let out a surprised hiss of breath and yanked her arm back. The feeling of manipulation was everywhere--his subconscious had been trying to warn him what she was doing, what she was making him confess.

She looked up, eyes cloudy, and slowly nodded. "I swear, Harry."

"I don't trust you," he told her blank-faced and turned to leave.

When he was a ways away, she shouted at him, "What happened to you? I remember, I remember that night you were at my house, Harry." Harry froze, completely unable to move. "You weren't like this. Maybe you were becoming so, but you weren't then. You were your own person. Do you remember that?"

"That night was a nightmare," Harry muttered, knowing she'd hear, "and I'd prefer never thinking of it again."

She'd walked up to him while his back was turned, and stood next to him, staring him in the eye. Her confidence was back, her self-assurance, and he knew that no matter what was said, even he couldn't break that. "Everyone had nightmares, Harry," Ginny assured him. "But the goal is to wake up, not to keep dreaming about it."


	17. Chapter XVI

****

Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

__

You know I hate, detest, and can't bear a lie, not because I am straighter than the rest of us, but simply because it appalls me. There is a taint of death, a flavor of mortality in lies--which is exactly what I hate and detest of the world--what I want to forget. It makes me miserable and sick, like biting something rotten would do... 

Do you see the story? Do you see anything? It seems to me I am trying to tell you a dream--making a vain attempt, because no relation of a dream can convey the dream-sensation, that commingling of absurdity, surprise, and bewilderment in a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being captured by the incredible which is of the very essence of dreams... No, it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence--that which makes its truth, its meaning--its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We life as we dream--alone... 

The others might have been asleep, but I was awake. I listened, I listened on the watch for the sentence, for the word, that would give me the clue to the faint uneasiness inspired by this narrative that seemed to shape itself without human lips in the heavy night-air of the river."

Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad

****

Chapter XVI

He was angry and everyone around him knew it, consciously or not. His anger was radiated not in some blast of fiery heat, but in a chilling of temperature. When he walked by, it seemed like the bright September afternoon had dropped a few degrees. And whether they cleared a way for him or not, he didn't care; he stalked through the middle of the Hogwarts crowd, ignoring the students cheerfully waiting for the Express to take them back to a loved castle and a familiar home. He stalked to the root of his problem, and soon came up against Professor McGonagall as she organized the packing process, supervising over abandoned luggage and bags.

"You knew," Harry declared, "and you didn't tell me."

"Heaven's sake, Potter," McGonagall replied, taken back. "What on earth on you going on about?" Students walking her way to drop off their things paused, interested in overhearing whatever was going on. Rumor had it that Potter could undo any professor, could start a fight even with McGonagall, and from the looks of things, that was where this meeting was headed.

Harry crossed his arms, his eyes saying that the day was only going to get colder. His face looked weather-beaten, tired from stress. "Hermione only mentioned it to me this morning. A magical, binding contact is in place so that if I try to leave Beauxbatons without reason, I'm forced to come back."

McGonagall smiled. "Ah," she murmured with a wise nod, her eyes twinkling merrily, "I take it you tried to go off campus again."

Harry dropped his gaze, but his eyes narrowed and glared at the ground. The grass there cowered. "Why wasn't I warned? Do you know... do you know how badly it hurts to even think about leaving Beauxbatons? I was thinking of wandering through the forest again, just thinking about it... I couldn't step a foot off campus if I wanted to." There was just a faint twinge of desperation in his voice, a whisper that no one caught.

Tied to a piece of land? He'd never been leashed to anything before. With his parents, there was constant activity. He could always explore, get away from it all, escape to whatever pseudo-reality he could find. With Sirius, he could still go through to the forests and stay away for as long as he pleased. There were no real rules, no real responsibilities, no restrictions or limits placed on him. Now... now he felt shackled down with the knowledge that he _could not_ leave this place for the next ten months. It was a mental barrage he was in no way prepared for. Even going to Hogwarts would have been better: no amount of manipulation there could have kept him from sneaking off to the forest-

A sharp pain burst in his temples, and Harry clenched a fist, biting his tongue to keep from crying out as the goblet's binding came into play. Slowly, the pain went away as the thought of sneaking away dulled.

"It's for your own good, Potter," McGonagall answered briskly, annoyingly cheerful as she moved the line of students onward.

Harry wanted to snarl at her, but kept his visible peace and looked away. 

"Even if that spell wasn't in place, the Aurors guarding the school would hardly let you out of their sights," the professor went on, "not after two disappearing acts. They, at least, will be glad to do without the worry of you sneaking off at any given moment."

He'd been aware of that fact only a few hours when he stumbled on to an Auror, who'd been guiltily spying on him. A whole set of Aurors had been unleashed, and even now his back itched with the feeling that someone was watching him. He suspected one Auror was even pretending to be a student, perhaps even one of those even now curiously gawking at him.

Harry gave McGonagall one last look, hoping that the professor would reveal some secret loophole for the spell, but she only ignored him as she directed the students to make sure their names were clearly visible on all luggage.

There was another professor that Harry was willing to try, and so he trudged along through the crowds. Where students had finished loading up their things, they idly sprawled around various parts of the gardens. The Hogwarts Express was coming soon, evidenced by the faint railroad tracks that were beginning to appear on the ground. Harry could almost imagine it, high-speeding through the British lands and over the English Channel then down across France until it reached the small speck of a school.

Many other students had already packed off. The Russians had actually left immediately after their school's champion had been announced, and only three students were left from that population of hundreds. The dragons, stored away somewhere, came out again to see Austrians home, riding alongside Greece's flying horses for a moment before branching off in different directions. Even now, cheering could be heard as Bulgaria's flying boat was lifted off by its thousands of fairies, flying high into the air like out of a fairy tale. Hogwarts was certainly not the last school to leave, but it wasn't the first. Somewhere, its dignity from the Quidditch games came to mean nothing.

Harry respectfully walked up to Professor Snape, wondering where the man had been. Snape had disappeared, taking advantage of everyone's preoccupation with Beauxbatons to go off somewhere--presumably, he'd traveled to the same meeting Dumbledore was still missing to. At least, that was the rumor of the place. Dumbledore hadn't returned, though.

Snape, in the midst of a group of Slytherins, gave Harry a blank expression. "What do you want, Potter?" The Slytherins eyed him with disgusted superiority. No doubt they weren't too happy about his making the champions list or representing Hogwarts.

"I've a problem, sir, that I thought you might help me with," Harry began, keeping his eyes away from his fellow students.

The Slytherins snickered. Even Snape looked slightly amused. "Me?" he asked. "Why don't you ask your Head of House? McGonagall is there for that reason."

"I already asked her, sir, but she..." Harry stopped there, swallowing.

"I see." Snape's voice went flat, and with a motion, he dismissed the Slytherins. They had to have been underclassmen, because they left without casting a look Harry's way--a look or a curse. He'd been expecting one of the two, and received neither. "Come along, Potter. Tell me your... problem."

Harry held out his hand wordlessly, showing the eclipse marks left by his nails. One or two were bleeding slightly. When Snape had glanced up from them, Harry tersely explained, "The Goblet of Fire binds me to Beauxbatons. If I even think of leaving..." At first, Snape didn't say anything; he only thoughtfully looked back down on the bleeding half-moons. "Sir, is there anything you can do? I, I can't stay at Beauxbatons all year--maybe last year, one of the champions then-"

"Last year, the bindings were only reinforced by three Headmasters," Snape informed him, "and no Ministers. At most, a champion might have felt a passing headache or a little nausea. Those bindings could have been easily broken."

Harry bit his inside lip and withdrew his hand, letting his arms fall at his sides.

"Why can't you stay at Beauxbatons?" Snape asked slowly, looking semi-interested in the inferred rebellion against the Ministries of Europe. "Are you planning on leaving halfway through the year?"

"No," Harry's answer came slowly, "I mean to stay and participate in all the tasks. But I won't stand to be bound to this school like a house-elf." Harry shook his head. "I need... at least an option available, some way of getting out if I truly need to. If my brother needs me, I don't want to be stuck here, crossing wards with some other students."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You think your brother might need you? Tell me, if he did and if you still were 'bound' to Beauxbatons-"

"If Leo needed me, then even these," and Harry showed his palms again, "wouldn't be able to stop me."

The Potions Master nodded once sharply. "Very well. I'll look into the matter," he stated simply. Then, as he turned to go, he paused and added, "You've picked an interesting array of friends, Potter. It will be interesting to see how they all get along, particularly to see what Draco Malfoy will do when he learns that you've invited those three Gryffindors to stay along. I found him under the impression that he was the only other student continuing at Beauxbatons."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean? I didn't invite anyone."

"Really?" The Potions professor smirked darkly. "I suggest you find out who did. Virginia Weasley was the one who told McGonagall that she, her brother, and Granger were all staying behind. And, of course, no one doubted that Draco was going to remain here." He nodded his head once in farewell and left with a dramatic swirling of his robes, rejoining his students waiting a ways off.

Harry stood where he was, gobsmacked. Hermione? Ron? Ginny? What were they thinking? He stared at nothing, absently taking Snape's vacated seat. He'd have to deal with them, that was for sure. He glared, eyes narrowing at the thought. What were they thinking? And why did they have to bother him?

'Ginny's behind this,' Harry knew. 'What does she want with me?' Obviously, the words passed earlier weren't enough for her. Obviously, she had something else in mind when it came to him. Viciously, he thought, 'I'm not a charity case!'

After a moment, he relaxed and thoughtfully tilted his head back. The situation, Harry decided with cold precision, was not unworkable. He went over the thing in his mind, ruthlessly searching for some greater aspect, anything that would work to his advantage. Having Ginny stay would eliminate a possible threat that Harry tried to avoid thinking about: he could prevent her from spreading his secrets, "accidentally" or otherwise. And Hermione, by all accounts, was a clever witch--Harry could use her intelligence as an ally in this Tournament.

'Ron?' Harry frowned lightly, then gave a mental shrug. As far as Harry could tell, that Gryffindor was only along for the ride. No real advantages popped into Harry's mind as he thought about the boy. Oh well. If nothing else, at least Ron could be someone to play Quidditch with. Since the games, Harry was beginning to really love that sport.

His mind drifted towards the Slytherin who'd taken it upon himself to stay, but Harry stubbornly refused to consider Draco much beyond the fact that Harry would have a constant close contact with Lucius Malfoy. An available line of communication. A probable spy-

Harry stood up and walked out of the gardens, heading towards the clock tower.

Earlier this morning, after he'd talked with Ginny and while his emotions had still been volatile, Harry had been cornered by a group of Aurors and Ministers. The Aurors had said little, content with standing quietly and behaving like resentful spectators as the Ministers rambled on. First were the congratulations and then the real reason for their little visit: rules. This list he'd been slapped with was heavy enough to prompt thoughts of escaping the Tournament, which in turn prompted his first experience with that unexpected pain.

The binding's torture grew stronger with time, Harry realized, and stricter as well. Even now, as he simple brushed memories of those thoughts, he swallowed back as a gasp of pain hit him hard.

'Ouch,' he thought, rubbing his forehead feverishly as if physical solutions could solve magical problems. The pain was a brief mental stab, there then gone as the magic realized that he wasn't really planning on skipping out after all.

Absently, he went over a list of possible solutions, but the real solution could only come through a potent potion.

'The only way to slip through biding spells,' he remembered reading a text book years ago, 'is by finding the ingredients to a physical manifestation of the abstract magic. In other words, by creating a potion that would create the same effects as a worded spell.'

All potions, Harry knew, could be turned into charms or hexes just as all charms or hexes could be turned into potions. For instance, Harry knew of a ridiculously complicated _Lumos_ potion. It would glow for hours. Potions usually were much stronger than spells, but were also simply so much more difficult, often requiring rare and expensive ingredients, that most in the wizarding community preferred the comparatively weaker but immensely easier spell versions.

'And since all potion ingredients have inverse elements,' Harry continued the mental observation, 'it's just a matter of creating a reversal potion of the spell with all those inverse elements of the original potion.'

The procedure sounded so simple, but Harry knew it could possibly take days of labor-intensive research to find or create a potion with the same outcome of the given spell, weeks to acquire all the required ingredients, and some unknown time in actually making the reversal potion. Professor Snape knew all that; it could be a month or two before a solution was found--but then again, Snape wasn't a Potions Master for nothing. 

It was quite possible that Snape already knew exactly what potion would solve this, and it was quite possible that Snape had that potion bottled in his storage of random potions produced beforehand. Just as it was perfectly logical to assume that McGonagall, as Transfiguration professor, was an animagus and was in contact with other animagi (legal or not). Just as it was logical to assume that Dumbledore, as a former Transfiguration professor, was an animagus in contact with other animagi (legal or not.) In fact, it was logical to assume that both professors knew every spell, potion, and whatnot that dealt with Transfiguration.

If a student truly thought about the sheer, detailed knowledge their many professor assumable had... professors whose presence at Hogwarts suggested that they were the best of the best... it would be realized that any attempt at defeating a professor in his/her chosen field would be nearly impossible.

But that knowledge had to be extremely concentrated, focused so completely on one single dedication that the professor might as well be blind when it came to other things. Snape could be a genius with potions, but ask how to deal with a dragon or how to properly grow a leech tree, and he'd huff away. He'd be able to answer questions about potion ingredients contributed by the two, but nothing specific about dealings with the actual things.

'If a wizard were proficient at all subjects,' Harry thought idly, 'he'd be a force to reckon with.' He paused to go over his train of thought, amused at where it had gone. 'I hope this doesn't mean I'm unconsciously planning on dueling the professors.'

He reached the clock tower, cynically wondering at how often he visited the place, at how it was becoming his favorite spot. Hedwig had to be upset--the Aurors, in their search for him last night, had forced the owl against her will to go out flying in the hopes that she would be able to find Harry. She'd not been able to, and Harry wondered if that was the reason behind her agitation.

Footsteps sounded. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Harry answered automatically. He turned to acknowledge Draco, though he'd already known; another biding enslaved Harry to this boy doubly strong as the one enslaving him to this school.

Few wizards followed the codes described by the system of wizarding honor. A wizard was supposed to be brave, honorable, courteous, and gallant; he was to treat those weaker then him with respect and benevolence, never attacking them unless provoked and never attacking anyone unarmed. There was a constant emphasis on the fact that he worked only for glory and good principles, not for profit or gain.

The Dumbledores had been one of the families keeping this honor alive, keeping the memory of an honorable wizard tradition alive, but they had not been the only ones. The Malfoys had held to the tradition, as had many other Slytherin and Gryffindor pureblood families like the Marvolos and Potters. In keeping with the system, wizarding families gained a mark of nobility over the other _uncivilized_ families. In time, the collection of virtues described in the system of wizarding honor became associated with aristocrats born to the class and no one else; in time, the collection became associated and corrupted by feelings of superiority when it came to pureblood versus mixed, and then pureblood versus muggle-born. 

But for Harry, it was still that collection of values. Be brave, be bold, be loyal, be true. And because he had been raised to keep those values, his magic had become transformed until it came to the point where he _couldn't_ do otherwise. Harry, right now, could not lie to Draco because he'd sworn to tell the truth. He could not turn away from the Death Eaters partly because of the loyalty that still held him from childhood, loyalty that would hold him until death. If he tried to betray himself, then one of two things could happen. He could feel a twinge of pain, and then nothing more as his magic realized that he'd broken the system of honor and left him, or he could feel pain worse than anything Beauxbatons could offer, as his magic realized he'd broken the system and destroyed him in consequence. Powerless or dead, neither were options he wished to explore

Harry looked at Draco, trying to analyze the boy before him before giving up. "I heard," he finally said when it became clear that Draco wasn't in a mood to start up the conversation again, "that you're staying."

The Slytherin shrugged in a half-hearted way. "Did you really think I would go back to Hogwarts when I could not?"

"Then you know about the others," Harry assumed, eyes half-closing in thought. "I didn't-"

"What others?"

"The Gryffindors who've invited themselves to stay along with us." His eyes opened again in question, and Harry silently wondered at the odd expression on Draco's face. It seemed like the boy was having a hard time with something.

"Who?" Draco demanded. As Harry listed off the three names, Draco's face seemed to nearly burst. "And you didn't say they can't, did you?" the Slytherin finally retorted mordantly. "Of course not. You're a bloody Gryffindor, even now. No wonder my father left in such a hurry." He threw his arms into the air. "Don't just stand there--go tell that McGonagall that they weren't invited."

'I could,' Harry replied silently, 'but I've already decided that they can do as they please.' His eyes slid half-close again as he leaned against the building, arms crossed over his chest. Barely, he could hear a great calamity from where the gardens where; the Express was probably pulling in about now.

Draco's eyebrows drew down. "Are you listening? The train'll be here any minute, and then they'll all be gone. This is the only time we have to get rid of them. After the Express leaves, they'll be stuck here until we're gone."

Harry straightened abruptly. "I'm going to go find them," he announced shortly.

"And tell them they're not to be staying-"

"And ask them what they want," he corrected softly.

Draco couldn't miss the hint of steel running through Harry's voice. The Slytherin hurriedly caught up beside Harry's long strides. "What they want?" he was nearly hissing under his breath. "Probably trying to make sure you don't turn, Potter. They'll have heard I'm staying, and all they'll think about is keeping you away from me. Bloody hypocrites, always ready to dash all Slytherins off as training Dark Wizards."

"And is it true?"

"Course it is," Draco answered indignantly, "but that doesn't give them any right to be preaching about it." 

*

Dumbledore returned in the late afternoon, not too long before dinner was to be served. Few students saw him, though classes hadn't been in session for a week. He knew a few secret passageways through the castle that only a headmaster could know, and made good use of them to cut the time it took for him to reach his office.

Fawkes managed a weak welcoming chirp. The phoenix, for some reason, had been acting very distracted since the start of the school year, always looking towards the south and always ready to head into the Forbidden Forest.

Smiling slightly, Dumbledore stroke the bird's brilliant feathers. "I wonder about you," he murmured to it, voice carrying no farther than the bird's excellent hearing, "and what you'll do when you don't carry with me. You've been around since the Founders, haven't you?"

Absently, Fawkes trilled out a note before flapping toward the window, eyes glazed over. The little song was beautiful as ever, short though it was.

He felt the same way he always did when he returned to his life after visiting with Aberforth: vaguely dizzy, time-sick almost. Being in his brother's presence was always a shock, a sheer step into the pseudo-reality Seers lived and dreamed in, and spending so much time there had left him light-headed. His brain was struggling to correctly store the week's memory and was undoubtedly fighting a losing battle against the aging effects of time.

Leaving Fawkes where it was, Dumbledore pulled out his Pensieve, wasting no time in pouring his memories out. The silvery wisps dragged through the week, starting a quick replay of everything that'd happened: meeting with Aberforth, seeing through the First Task on that continent, finding out more about Voldemort's present condition... a week full of prophecy and half-hints towards something more.

Dumbledore stirred the resting Pensieve with his wand, a light frown replacing his smile. Something had been gnawing at him. Perhaps a little time spent rummaging through the week again, this time without Aberforth's confusing presence--

"Ah," he corrected himself aloud, standing, "but time is one thing I don't have." Fawkes didn't care to answer that.

He walked slowly through the room, pacing the floor. Objects shined in his passing light, tempting his attention, but he ignored them. His mind was returning to its duty: running through lists of things to be done at the school, students to be watched, professors to be talked to, ghosts and the like that needed his focus. Beauxbatons would have been too long a break for some students. His smile returning, Dumbledore wondered what tricks the Weasley twins would be up to.

A clock chimed softly, informing him of the changing hour.

Dumbledore started, jerked out of his musing. At the same time, another tone went off, this one a warning of visitors.

Hardly a moment later, his office door opened. Already sitting and ready for the witch, Dumbledore smiled and nodded at her. "Minerva, I hope everything went well in my absence?"

She looked the same as she did when he left, which Dumbledore took as a good thing, and she nodded sharply. "More or less, headmaster, with a few surprises." She motioned towards his desk. "Have you read my letter?"

"I'm terribly sorry, my dear, but I've only just-"

"You might want to," she interrupted tersely, body tense. "I think you'd rather know now than later, when Black gets here. I only just beat him to your office, and I've instructed the gargoyle not to open."

Intrigued, Dumbledore looked across his desk, picking out the letter. It was very distinctive; Minerva's handwriting was very refined but she tended to print her words as small as possible, as if she'd been challenged to do so. He opened the letter and began skimming its contents when he noticed she was still standing. "Would you take a seat, Minerva? I'm sure you're not comfortable standing still."

Minerva looked slightly pained. "Please just finish the letter, Albus." Even so, she sat down.

"All right, all right." He waved a hand her way. "I was only wondering-" She cleared her throat and he stopped, eyes twinkling. Minerva was too uptight. For her students, this translated into extreme strictness but--'Read,' he caught himself, eyes returning to the paper, 'and find out what has her so upset.'

It didn't take too long to figure out. The first few paragraphs were on regular student misdemeanors, with particular attention paid to the Weasley twins, and then the pages began to date themselves. Amused, Dumbledore realized that the "letter" was nothing less than a well-detailed account of everything that had transpired during his visit, taking off after breakfast on the first day of the vacation. There were even suggested punishments aligned out in the margins, some crossed out as Minerva probably decided on the best course of action.

He almost put the letter down when the third page caught his attention. There, her handwriting sprawled, swelling out for a few paragraphs, quite possibly in anger. At first, he expected to see some brawl between the houses or some joke played on the other schools' students, but what he found was a minute-to-minute recall of the first night. Harry Potter had gone missing.

And then, Harry Potter had returned with an insolent lip.

Dumbledore's eyebrows drew together in consternation. He glanced up to speak, but Minerva only shook her head. "There's more where that came from," she shot out angrily. "You'd better finish the whole report."

Minerva listed her attempt at drawing Harry in, forcing him to play Quidditch to make sure he wouldn't run off again. She told of how Lucius Malfoy had been there, and there was nearly a page of frantic speculations as to what the wizard was telling Harry. She couldn't interfere when Harry was invited to spend the week at the governor's apartments, and she couldn't guess as to what damage had been done. Another few pages were filled with quick observations, comparisons of Harry's behavior, a search for some clue as to what the Death Eater had said.

Alarmed, Dumbledore sped through the rest of the report, swallowing the facts and opinions and observations, making his own as well. He stopped short when it came to the night of the champions, looking up with a horrified expression. "Please tell me this didn't happen."

She didn't follow the desperate directions. "Harry Potter has been chosen as the champion for Hogwarts," she reaffirmed curtly, obviously as distressed as he was. "He's at Beauxbatons right now with four others."

"Draco Malfoy," Dumbledore guessed immediately.

Minerva nodded solemnly. "No one would have expected differently. Lucius has obviously extended some influence over Potter--how much, I can't tell--and what better way to keep that influence than to send his son? Draco Malfoy will probably be sending home weekly letters."

He felt tired, and the queasiness from his trip only expanded on his weariness. Clapping a hand over his eyes, Dumbledore tried to think but all things looked rotten. _The Death Eaters have Harry._ The thought ran through his mind over and over again with quirky comments on the "easier" way to get rid of the problem. 'I'm too much at war,' he noted tiredly, 'and I can't let go of it.'

"The contract is in full force," Minerva stated, her tone an attempt at being reassuring. "Potter tried to breach it just this morning before we left, but it came into effect at breakfast. He can't leave school grounds at all. There's some punishment involved in even thinking about leaving." She sighed and rubbed her own forehead, echoing her thoughts. "They've gotten to him first, even though he's enrolled here."

Dumbledore looked at her crushed expression and felt he needed to do something to lift her spirits. Gently, he said, "They've probably been waiting all this time for him to leave the Black Manor. They've probably had this planned out-"

She snorted at that. "Then we should have been more observant. Of _course_ the Death Eaters would attempt to go after Harry! Through him, they can get to his brother. We should have seen that. They'll do anything to get revenge. Sooner or later, they'll have Harry hating Leonard and thinking it's his own emotion--they'll have one brother kill another. No suspicion on Lucius Malfoy that way, is there?"

"Calm down, Minerva," he advised firmly. He summoned a cup of tea and levitated it over to her. "There's no need for histrionics."

She took a sip and relaxed. Minerva was probably just as wound up as he was, Dumbledore realized belatedly. She had to deal with this a week. The strain was going to get to her--her students, he also realized with a little amusement, were going to be faced with a tired professor, one more than ready to deck house points if annoyed. The upcoming week promised to be subdued.

By chance, his eyes caught on the last page of the report, picking up an obscure and confounding fact that made him relax as well. "Ah," he murmured, "that'll be the good news I've been waiting for."

Minerva looked up, eyes shadowed. "What good news?"

"Those three Gryffindors staying behind," he clarified, picking up his enthusiasm, "might be just what we need."

"He doesn't even talk to them. Potter won't have anything to do with them--and that Malfoy boy won't be pushing for a friendship."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "When there are only four others who speak your language and who practice your culture, you'll be drawn to them no matter what." He sighed in relief. "I couldn't have picked anyone better myself. Maybe this way, we'll be able to bring back both of those boys."

A tone went off, again warning of visitors.

When she began to rise but Dumbledore waved a hand. "Sirius Black," he informed her, picking up the name in the tone.

"I told the gargoyle-"

"He has a Ministry order. That will get him past nearly any legal barrier."

The door opened, with Sirius jumping in. A sheet of Ministry paper floated from his hand, the end where he'd held it crumpled up. Sirius paused, phased at the sight of Minerva sternly staring back at him, then started into the reason for his visit without any preamble. "Is it true, Albus?" the part-time Auror demanded, taking no care of formalities.

"What?" Dumbledore, feigning ignorance. "Is what true, dear boy?" Minerva calmly sipped at her tea, eyes watching the scene unfold. She gave him a reproachful look, and he pretended not to see.

"Harry," Sirius begged. "Please tell me it's not true."

Dumbledore fought the urge to sigh again. He'd done so too many times already. Almost without emotion, he nodded grimly. "Harry is involved in the European Wizarding Tournament-"

He got no further. Immediately, Sirius launched into a round of curses, backing up towards the door. Respectfully, both Hogwarts professors looked away from the frenetic man, and their eyes caught: hers were knowing, cat eyes, observant and catching everything while his were somber, wise, and altogether too tired to be dealing with everything. Minerva nodded once and stood.

"Let's go," she ordered Sirius. "The headmaster needs some rest."

"What about Harry?" Sirius retorted bitterly as he was walked towards the door. "You think he's going to get any rest." He paused by the door, forlorn and miserable. "I knew he shouldn't have come to Hogwarts," he whispered. "He was doing so well, he didn't need any help..."

The worst part, Dumbledore decided as the office door shut behind the two adults, was that he felt the same way. Fawkes hummed a note, curious eyes watching him. For once, the bird's red and gold plumage did not look so brilliant. 

Night was falling fast, and through the window he could see the creeping shadows coming out. There was a great deal of noise as students walked floors below to their Great Hall to get their dinner. Dumbledore stood slowly, bones creaking. His office was getting to be rather cold, and his joints were going to suffer for it--Madam Pomfrey would have his head if he did not take better care of himself. There wasn't a potion made yet for all bodily illnesses.

He walked towards the door, paying Fawkes one last look, then walked out. There was business to be done.

*

Rita Skeeter leaned back in her chair, a curling smile on her face as she read the latest information from one of her sources. It was perfect news: controversial, upsetting, and hot. 

Absently, she pushed up the bridge of her glasses, then tapped her quill against her cheek. There were only a few ways she could get the scope: one was to sail over to Beauxbatons herself, another was to set up contacts at the school, and the last one was to check out the old school, Hogwarts.

"Beauxbatons," the reporter muttered, her tapping increased. Everyone knew of the school, now, even if they didn't before. The Wizarding Tournament was the top topic. And this latest bit of news was sure to rock the papers--she planned on having it out first. Everyone wanted to know who was going to represent the country, and she was going to reveal that bit of information with habitual style.

'Aurors,' her mind instantly registers, and she frowned. England was loaning a couple of units out for the school's protection. They'd be guarding against any trespassing. "Drat." That ruled out two options, though she was still semi-interested in getting to the school anyway. She could even write an article about the school's security, or lack thereof.

"Hogwarts, then." Rita leaned forward on one elbow, the quill running smoothly on her face. "Now, to get in..."

A wizard walked by, stopping dead-short to stare at her. He watched for a second, then grinned. "Got a story, Rita?"

'Cheeky fellow,' Rita mused, discarding a good story on harassment in the workplace. It was a bloated but very convenient topic--and she hated convenient topics. Let someone else like that Clearwater chick who was still new at all this. Rita paused at this, wondering if she should be initiating the girl, then decided against it. Let the winners win, and the newbies be, well, new.

"The best," she answered condescendingly, "at least, better than some of the work you've been turning out. I heard rumors about the Daily Prophet letting some people go."

"I'm not scared," he answered clearly, smile still intact. "If anything, you should be. That last article you wrote about the Ministry got you in the deep end as far as they're concerned. You got more hate mail over that-"

"I got more _fan _mail," she corrected loftily, standing up from her station. The quill slipped into her pocket, and she carefully glanced at a floating mirror, puffing up her curls and adjusting her glasses again. "There's a difference. And I got more responses over that one article than you get in a year."

"I'm just saying be careful, you know? The Ministry, they don't like things being said about them. That Fudge guy, he's one proud Minister."

"He's ego needs popping."

He walked her to the apparation point, smile slipping into a casual expression of cheer. "You going to let me picture for you anymore? Me and you, we used to be the best-"

"Skeeter! Messenger just in for you."

"Got it!" she shouted over the noise, catching the fist-sized missive that came flapping her way. Ignoring the wizard, Rita skimmed through the note, a light smile on her face. She looked up and gave him a shrug. "Looks like I've got to go." Stepping over the apparation point, Rita disappeared.

She reappeared in the village of Hogsmeade. It was just after dusk, but the late summer weather kept temperatures up. Without pause, Rita started off towards Hogwarts grounds, only waiting until she was clear of the general population to pop into her animagus form. A beetle buzzing through the warm evening air gave no hint of suspicion.

In less than half the time it would have taken her to walk, she reached the edge of school grounds. In a way, Minerva McGonagall's invitation into Hogwarts was an undisguised blessing. It was a free ride into Hogwarts. But there was still the reason _why_.

After the war, the Prophet had been the first agency to recover its wits and those wits hadn't been lost since; the fact that only the most bold reporters were hired might have helped with the Prophet's ruthless reputation for hunting out truth from rumor. It was the only organization in the wizarding community that had the nerve to face down Aurors, but that ended in far more arrests than anything else. Half the paper's best reporters spent spare weekends serving time for insolence against the Ministry. Rita herself had been in the can a few times, but she'd been better than most: she had a constant way of escape. Aurors could hardly catch a beetle, even if they knew to look for one.

At the edge of the lake, a tabby cat with square markings around the eyes was waiting impatiently. When Rita came within reach, the cat took a flying leap and swatted at her. Irritated, Rita swerved and changed to human form. Huffing, she glared at the cat.

"What do you want, McGonagall?" she demanded rudely, lifted her chin defiantly. 

The cat stared at her for a moment, then almost gracefully transformed into the Transfiguration professor. "A little less cheek will do you wonders."

"I'm not here for manner lessons. Get on with it. I've got a story to do."

"I'd wager it has something to do with Harry Potter."

Face composed, Rita answered in a digging sort of voice, "Harry Potter? Is there something with the boy, aside from his brother?" She waved a hand dismissively. "I've already written enough gushing articles about that Leonard brat. Why would I want to write any more?"

"Don't play the fool with me. You forget who taught you-"

"I could have learned to become an animagus without your help, given time." Rita raised an eyebrow. "Is there a point to all of this?"

"You owe me a favor," McGonagall stated sternly. In the failing light, the professor looked almost tired.

"Since when?"

"Since I can reveal to the Ministry that you're an unregistered animagus, having been so since the war."

If she was a cat, she'd be hissing at the threat. Since cats were the professor's forte, Rita calmly lifted a manicured had to brush back an odd strand of blonde hair. 'And what do I say to that?' Rita wondered to herself, half-amused. 

"Professor, all I have to say is that I received my animagus training for war purposes. When everyone finds out that I was a spy, they'll rush to give me a hero's welcome. You, on the other hand, would lose your position as headmistress and professor at Hogwarts when it gets out that you were my teacher. Letting unregistered animagi run about is very dangerous business."

McGonagall's face suddenly relaxed, even allowing a light smile, one that was shadowed by her dark eyes. "I see you haven't lost your edge, Rita. Good. I was afraid working with the Prophet would make you Ministry-sympathetic." The professor seemed to consider a moment, then started. "I have an offer for you."

Rita bit back a grin and some silly retort like, 'Is it better than your last one?' 

Immediately after graduating from Hogwarts and about the time the Dark Lord began his rise, she'd been approached by the professor with a very nice offer: animagus training. McGonagall had needed spies--"information collectors," she called them--and becoming an animagus looked like a promising deal. A few years of tracking certain wizards, eavesdropping certain conversations, and relaying certain letters, and Rita was home free. After the war, her strings of obligation were firmly cut from Hogwarts, and she'd gone on as the rest of the world had, living day by day until terror subsided into logic, into reason, and into progression. She'd even begun to hope that McGonagall had completely forgotten about the training.

"I need a spy."

"Very funny," Rita cut in. "That's what you said last time." She bit her lip as McGonagall's expression stormed over. Maybe it wasn't just a trick of the light--maybe the professor really was tired.

The deputy headmistress closed her eyes, looking like she was praying for patience, and answered, "I know you know about Harry Potter and the Wizarding Tournament--and don't lie to me. I happen to know the Auror you're blackmailing, and you're not his only contact. They're trying to keep the whole thing hushed up until the Ministry knows what to do, which will be in about two days."

Rita nervously adjusted her glasses, hands nearly shaking with energy. She needed to get back to the newsroom to write up her story before someone else did!

"What I need you to do is to watch Harry."

"What!" Rita shouted out before she really thought about it. She touched her cheek in amazement. Here she was, thinking about getting onto Hogwarts, and McGonagall invites her to. Here she was, thinking about getting onto Beauxbatons, and McGonagall orders her to. Could the day get any better? Hopefully, Rita thought about winning the Owl Jackpot or hitting the next big story.

McGonagall motioned her hand. "It'll be risky, but I need someone to be watching the boy. There's no way that he'll be able to get through this competition, especially with the rumors I'm hearing."

"How exactly am I supposed to get on campus?" Rita demanded, trying to curb her enthusiasm. "I know about the Aurors-

"They're reducing the guards to a minimum force, especially since the contract went into effect--no one can leave and no one can enter. The contract prevents any champion from just walking away. The forests are as dangerous as Hogwarts', and the mountains are just as bad. Only a few guards to watch the main entrances, a dozen or so. And Beauxbatons doesn't have the same animagus-detection as Hogwarts does."

Rita could almost kiss the lady. This was a year-long supply of breaking news--the press had been forbidden from dallying near the Tournament about a week ago, much to everyone's distress. And now...

"What do you want?" she asked, carefully hiding her interest.

McGonagall answered after a short pause. "I want you to make sure that Potter doesn't get himself into any trouble. Make sure he doesn't get hurt when you can prevent it."

'Sounds fair enough,' she decided, especially liking the "when you can prevent it" clause. There were bound to be many times when she _couldn't_ help the boy out. Pretending to think about the deal, Skeeter nodded slowly. "I'll do it, on a few conditions. I'll need at least a month to get some vacation time set up, since I don't want to risk getting caught transmuting to the Daily Prophet every day. I also want some guaranteed interviews when the year's over, with the staff at Hogwarts and some students--and Potter. I want a long interview with him, no limits."

"Agreed."

*

By the time dinner came around, most of the group's differences were worked out, meaning that either the oppositions had argued until both were willing to quit, or both sides had tactfully agreed to just let things settle down and ignore the problems for now. It was obvious to see, though, the two sides in the group: Draco was constantly whispering in Harry's ear as the two walked slightly ahead of the others, and the three Gryffindors glared.

"Sodding-"

"Don't curse, Ron."

"But--he-" Ron gestured inarticulately, face dark with anger.

"Who knows what he's saying," Hermione continued calmly, but her hands were wringing white. "For all we know, Malfoy might be explaining-"

"How to become a bloody Death Eater," Ginny cut in with a growl, her face mirroring her brother's. Eyes narrowed, her glare was the worst of them. "Why he got to stay-"

"Ginny!" Hermione looked scandalized. "I can't believe you just said that!" The other girl's face flushed, but her expression stayed the same. Hermione glanced forward and gave a defeated sigh. "You're right, you know," she admitted. "Malfoy's only here because of his father." All three went quiet at that thought.

Ron grunted, shaking his head. "The whole stinking family, what do they want with Harry? I'm surprised the mum isn't here trying to stuff poisoned cookies down Harry's throat."

Hermione shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Could you image? I remember her from the Quidditch Cup last year and I don't think she's ever baked a single thing in her life."

"She's probably never seen a kitchen before." Voice high-pitched, Ginny threw her head around with her nose sticking up in the air. "'_What's this room? What's that square thing? An oven? Is there anything in it? Let me just crawl in and see._'" Hermione and Ron broke down in laughter, ginning at her.

Ahead, Harry glanced back at them. He looked over at Draco, who shrugged disinterestedly. "You really want to know what they're talking about?" the Slytherin asked dryly. "It's likely some twisted Gryffindor humor."

Harry shrugged and replied, "I don't really care."

Sneering, Draco glared back at the Gryffindors. "Listen to them. It's embarrassing, you know, walking around like that. And that laugh!" He winced in time with Ron's loud chuckles, and shook his head. "But what else can you expect."

Harry's face went blank, and he said, "I thought you said you didn't care whether they stayed."

"I said, 'It's too bloody late to do anything about it because you were being a sodding idiot,' not, 'Oh, I'm flippin' giddy over the prospect of spending a year in close contact with the worst of the Gryffindor bunch.'" Draco shook his head. "You haven't been to Hogwarts with them long enough to know what they're like. Think the rules are below them, that lot in particular."

"And breaking the rules isn't a Slytherin quality?"

"Of course it is. But they're Gryffindors--when they break the rules, they do it for some good purpose, and they always get caught at it. They're trying to mimic us, and they screw it all up. It's insulting."

A brief smile lit Harry's face, gone before Draco even saw it, and then the group reached the front doors to the Great Hall. They waited for Ron, Hermione and Ginny to catch up, then slid into the mainstream of students coming in for dinner.

As soon as Harry walked in, he was stopped by Minister Fudge, who was grinning insanely. "Harry!" the Minister greeted, shaking Harry's hand enthusiastically. "My boy, it's been ages since I last saw you, but I saw your brother just last week. He's having a splendid time with you here at school--I bet he'll be excited to hear what's happened. The press isn't to know for a few days, but we'll make an exception for him."

Harry stiffly took his hand back, managing a brittle "Minister" before starting off. Once his hands were back to himself, they clenched into fists hidden by the sleeves of his robes. Of _course_ Leo was having a splendid time-

Fudge grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. "Back here, Harry," he said jovially. "You're to be eating with the rest of the champions tonight. It's a special honor." The Minister pointed to a long table at the front of the room already filling up with older students. "Just run up there. No time to waste, dinner's almost started. You're friends will catch on as soon as they see you."

The other Hogwarts students had already disappeared in the crowd, and Harry spent a second looking around for them, then Fudge gave him a shove and he nearly tripped starting forward to the long table. Brushing his robes off, Harry stiffly started walking, determined not to seem affected whatsoever by the Minister. 

The noise was overwhelming, and he understood none of it. Walking through the middle of the room was like walking into a furnace, where traces of sweat mingled with dozens of perfumes, and Harry trudged through as fast as he could.

Most of the middle section had been filled, the other champions claiming the most-visible seats first, which suited Harry just fine. He settled on one of the edge seats, looking around just in time to catch a glimpse of Ron. The fifth-year waved, and Harry nodded back, eyes scanning nearby the pick up the others. They'd sat near the door. From where Harry sat, they seemed a long ways off.

A Minister stood, tapping on his wineglass to gather the attention of the room. As his words drifted along, Harry realized he was speaking in French. Most of the champions were watching with complete interest, obviously understanding exactly what was being said. With a shake of his head, Harry settled back in the chair to wait out the speech.

It didn't last too long. One minute the Minister was talking, and the next he'd sat down as food began appearing along the middle of the long table.

Champions were speaking to each other, and the girl on Harry's right tried to get him to talk. He couldn't understand a word she was saying and stared at her a moment before going to the food, only slightly hungry.

The girl gave him a look and tried again, this time in English. "Yeh tha' Potter boy?"

Harry turned to look at her, eyebrows lowering. "What of it?"

The girl beamed and let go of her fork to shake hands. "Good ta meet yeh," she declared. "Harry, right?" She grabbed his hand, shaking almost violently. "I'm Eachna, from Irelan'."

He pulled his hand back, weakly flexing the digits.

"They're sayin' yer brother had sommat to do with you here, ya know. Issit true?"

"No," Harry deadpanned, and turned away, hoping she'd get the message. He started piling some food onto his plate.

The girl nodded wisely. "I diden think so, but it's betta to ask than to guess, I say. Say, yer not goin' ta eat all'o tha', are you?"

Minister Fudge was walking rounds along the table, and stopped to speak with the girl, giving Harry a needed break. With him, however, was the French Minster who stopped beside Harry. "'Arry Potter, it iz good to see you 'ere. We were worried tha' you'd been lost." He patted Harry's shoulder. "I 'ope you are hungry. 'Ere in France, eating more iz like a compliment." Harry nodded, annoyed, and waited for the man to leave.

Fudge made a stop at his seat, too, and beamed down condescendingly. "So, Harry, how's the food? I haven't gotten the chance to sit down yet."

"This is my second helping," Harry lied as he pushed his seat back and stood up, facing eye-to-eye with the Ministers, "but I think I'm getting too full to eat anymore."

For some reason, the two only smiled at him. "As long as you've gotten something to eat," Fudge replied with a nod of his head. "We don't want you too full to participate in the Tournament."

The French Minister leaned over to talk with the Irish student, and Harry slipped away from them. Everyone was still eating--dinner had just started. He really wasn't hungry, and if he was then he could always find food somewhere else. Harry walked along the sides of the hall, slipping out the front doors and stepping outside to get a breath of air.

Hedwig came hurtling down from nowhere, screeching angrily and nipping his ear. She must have thought he was in the Great Hall like everyone else. Harry stroked her feathers, calming her down, and again bearing nothing on her leg. Feeling slightly cheated, he ran his hand through her wings, trying not to think pessimistically, trying to assure himself that nothing was wrong. And if anything was, then Draco would get his father to look into the matter. Harry tried to ignore the relief he felt in that realization.

Hedwig caught a bit of his ear between her beak before taking off, flying back up to the tower. Harry watched her leave and was too distracted to notice the other presence before Dumbledore appeared before him. 

"And what are you doing out here, Harry?"

"Headmaster!" Harry took a startled step back, eyes widening in surprise. He looked around. "What are you doing here? I thought that Hogwarts had returned to the castle."

Dumbledore nodded. "They have," he admitted, "but I thought it would be careless of me to leave a student alone here without any sort of advice. And I'm afraid that my traveling has prevented me from speaking to you earlier. I am sorry about that. I wouldn't want you to think that I'd forgotten about you altogether."

Harry didn't reply. He had a suspicious that the headmaster knew something--why wouldn't he? McGonagall was probably at his door the minute he got back from wherever, ready to spill on all of Harry's faults. The stars flickered into existence, suddenly bright without the sun's overwhelming light outshining them. 

"Harry," Dumbledore broke the silence, "I want you to know that I have some knowledge of what has happened while I was away--your professors were very diligent about keeping an eye on you, and from what I know it was more than warranted. However... I would also like you to know that what has happened here is very unusually, and you are at no way to blame for this."

Harry looked up, green eyes reflecting his confusion. Blame for what? What was unusual?

"The Age Lines preventing younger students from entering were reinforced several times over, by several different Ministers," Dumbledore explained. At Harry's defensive look, the headmaster smiled faintly. "I'm not accusing you simply because I don't believe you could pass those lines, nor do I believe you had any incentive to do so. But others don't believe you're innocent."

Harry merely looked on to the sky. "I'm not really bothered by that," he conceded. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "With all due respect, professor, what they say doesn't hurt me."

"I can see that." Dumbledore sighed, suddenly looking weary. Or maybe, not so suddenly; the headmaster was behaving as though his shoulders were being weighed down by something. "You're parents raised you well, Harry, and your godfather is doing his best in their absence."

Harry wanted to frown, to react to that statement, but it was as if, hearing Dumbledore say it, he knew the words were true. 

"I want you to know that if you ever need an adult to talk to, you need only contact me," the headmaster continued, looking into Harry's eyes sincerely. "I promise you, Harry, that I will do anything I can, anything that's in my power." He put a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder and, for a moment, Harry realized that this man's presence, guidance, was something he had missed out on, something his four years away from Hogwarts had left him without. Dumbledore's mentoring was one of the irrevocable losses his subservience to Leo had caused.

And, in that moment, Harry wondered if his unthinking loyalty to Leo was worth the cost.

Dumbledore, unaware of the thoughts he was sparking, left Harry alone, walking back towards the Great Hall and unknowingly cutting the link that would have caused a great alliance between the two, for as he walked away, Harry schooled his thoughts back. As Dumbledore walked away, as he left Harry alone with his tumultuous thoughts, Harry threw away that moment's doubt. Leo was his brother, his last connection to the two dead parents who still drove his thoughts. If loneliness itself was the cost such a connection, Harry was willing to pay the price and be alone.

*

"What are we going to be doing for the year?" Ron asked, lazily sprawled across the floor in the main room of their guest dormitory. The building, once large enough to fit the entire population of Hogwarts, had magically shrunk to accommodate the five students perfectly and had even come with a miniature kitchen for midnight snacking. It was the perfect apartment, and Hermione had even added little touches: a plant there, a hanging picture there. The entire room was very cozy.

At least, Ron thought so. Hermione was very proud of it, and Ginny liked it as well, but from the looks of the Slytherin sitting back-straight on a cushioned couch, this was a disaster area. Not that Ron cared in the least. Oh no, anything that bothered Malfoy was a good thing in Ron's books. Ron would rather have the room a complete mess than have Malfoy happy with it.

Ginny stuck her head beneath the half-wall separating the main room from the kitchen, using the slit that was supposed to be for serving food. "Did you say anything?"

Ron waved her head away. "No, go back to whatever you were doing." She frowned, trying to work that out, then pulled her head away. 

Hermione walked into the room, pulling the lasts of her hair up in a bun. A few strands evaded her, escaping to curl around her neck. It looked very pretty. She smiled at him then settled to the closest chair, snuggling into it. "What are you talking about? I heard your voice from my bedroom."

Ron shrugged, pulling himself up to a sitting position. "Nothing, really, just wondering about what'll be going on." He grinned quickly. "You heard what they said last night? All champions are to devote themselves to preparing for the Tournament, and can forget about classes."

"It's stupid," Hermione clipped out at him, expression cooling rapidly. "If they go to class, then maybe they'll be more prepared."

Ron's grin widened. "You'll have to ask Harry that when he gets out here."

Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling so softly that Ron knew she was biting her tongue to keep back a full-out grin. His good mood dampened when she hesitantly glanced over to Malfoy, who hadn't moved or said a word since sitting down nearly ten minutes before. "Good morning," she greeted stiffly.

She got no answer. Ron's grin disappeared and he frowned. "Hey, Malfoy, Hermione's trying to talk to you."

"Ron!" she hissed, twisting her neck to glare at him. Her eyes were saying, 'You're not helping, so shut your mouth.'

Malfoy slowly twisted in the chair, movements like a soul being reanimated. His upper body revolved until he was turned to stare at Ron. "I heard what the mudblood said, Weasley," the Slytherin drawled disdainfully, "you don't need to butt your comments in."

He could feel the tips of his ears burning, but Ron was determined to be civil. Harry had said a few days ago something about how the five of them were stuck together for almost a year, and fighting all the time wasn't going to make that year go any faster. "Then why didn't you answer her?" he asked, jaw clenched. His words came out half-mangled.

With a single deliberate motion that gave Ron the feeling Malfoy was trying to save his energy (didn't think it was worth spending on a pair of Gryffindors, huh?), Malfoy shrugged a single shoulder. "It's called mediation, perhaps you've heard of it. Then again," he eyed Ron's clothing, "maybe not."

"I've heard of it," Hermione volunteered a little too quickly. Her cheeks were slightly pink with embarrassment--probably, Ron realized with a little shame, she was feeling embarrassed because of the way _he_ was acting. She swallowed and continued in a strong voice, "It's supposed to help focus your magic, isn't it? I've tried to meditate once or twice, but I'm always getting interrupted."

"That's a pathetic excuse," Malfoy shot back ruthlessly, turning to glare at her. "If you've got enough control, nothing can interrupt you."

The slight tremble of Hermione's bottom lip might have been mistaken for distress, but Ron quickly recognized the sign of his girlfriend losing control of her temper, and didn't blame her at all.

"I suppose you don't allow anything to interrupt you then, do you Malfoy?" she asked sarcastically.

"I've got a fair bit more control than you do," the Slytherin answered haughtily, "or ever will."

"You've also got more practice. But tell me, if you don't allow anything to interrupt you, then what was Ron a second ago? Didn't he cut into your meditations? And you stopped meditating to answer him. If that's not an interruption-"

"Just because I have more control doesn't mean I can endure that blasting voice," Malfoy cut in coolly, chin rising. "Besides, I chose to answer the Weasel. I could have ignored him if I wanted to."

Hermione raised an eyebrow unbelievingly. "Right. You _chose_ to let Ron interrupt you."

"I merely thought that it would be better to get the argument over with before Potter got out here. He doesn't want to see us fighting, so we'd be done before he saw us." Malfoy stood up in a single motion. "Well, Weasley?"

"Anytime," Ron answered immediately, standing to his feet as well. He was more than ready to teach the teen a lesson--had done so already not too long ago. A repeat performance would be more than welcome. Ron pulled out his wand. "Well-"

His wand flew out of his hands. Shocked, Ron could only stare as it floated over to Malfoy.

Malfoy's face looked pale, but he smiled nastily as he snatched Ron's wand out of the air. Twirling the stick between his fingers, he gave Ron a smug look. "Meditation, remember?"

Hermione stood up, face lit up with excitement. "Can you do it again?" she asked Malfoy, completely disregarding the fact that they were in the middle of an unofficial duel. Her face looked puzzled as she watched the two of them, and she came to some conclusion. "Or not? It looks very draining."

"Can it, Granger, I'm trying to beat up your boyfriend."

Hermione smiled, snapping her fingers. "It is extremely draining! I remember reading about it--oh, you can't beat up Ron now. He could knock you over with a tap. And you're probably too drained to even get a spell out." She looked at him, seeming to examine everything. "I wonder--you've probably been at this since you were a child, right Malfoy?"

Ron leaned on the back of his heels, a slow smile coming to his face. She was simply incredible, but always right on the dot. Ron could see it now: Malfoy looked just about ready to tip over. "Probably," he answered for the teen, taking distinct pleasure from the look of indignity on the Slytherin's face. "Most pureblood families do."

Hermione nodded her thanks, then kept up her speculations. "If that's all you can manage, then meditation isn't really all that fine. It's more like reharnessing the wandless magic everyone does when they're children, or the spots of wandless magic you can do when you're really emotional--that all stops when you grow up and start gaining control over yourself, one instance at least where control is damaging. Anyway," she waved a hand, disinterested, "if that's all you can do before you exhaust yourself, then I guess it's really not all that important."

Malfoy sat back down in his seat, almost managing his previous grace but his movements jarred a little. "How do you know I'm exhausted?" he demanded angrily. "I could hex you both back to Hogwarts if I wanted to."

Hermione took out her own wand and summoned Ron's back, throwing it over to him. Appropriately, Malfoy shut up and leaned back in his chair to sulk.

Ginny walked in, an apron wrapping around her proclaiming her "World's Wickedest Witch". She came bearing gifts of warm cookies. "They're done," she sung, carrying the hot pan with thick mittens, "and they're good, too."

Hermione took in a deep breath and smiled. "They smell delicious."

"My mum's recipe," Ginny supplied. "I wanted to try it out, but there's no real opportunity to cook at Hogwarts."

"What is it?" Hermione asked, picking a cookie up but only weighing it from hand to hand.

As Ginny listed the ingredients off, then started with the directions, Ron impatiently reached over and snatched one off the hot sheet. It was only slightly warm, cool enough to eat without burning his mouth. He opened his mouth and took a bite.

And then nearly gagged, trying to spit the stuff out. As he coughed, the two girls broke up into giggles, Hermione reaching over to shove him to the floor. "Ron," she gasped between breaths, "that was priceless!"

Ginny smiled sweetly over to the Slytherin. "I suppose I should have offered you one first, but maybe you'll want one still." She held the pan his way.

His face looked insulted. "Take that garbage out of here."

And then Harry walked in. Ron was facing the other way, just about to come up with some clever insult to throw back at Malfoy's face, but he didn't need to be watching to know who entered the room. Ginny had this funny little way of acting whenever she was around Harry, like she was suddenly half-timid and half-bold. Malfoy would instantly straighten up, a smug expression constantly on his face. And Hermione would look more confused than she ever did. Ron wondered what he looked like, how his body reacted to the other teen. Really, there was no helping it. How else could a person act in the presence of the brother of Leonard Potter? Ron practically grew up hearing stories about Leonard's exploits, and here was the brother of that Boy-Who-Lived. It was like being in the presence of a legend, or as close to one as you could get.

Ron turned around to see Harry's eyebrows draw down a bit. "Something going on?" the teenager asked, glancing towards the three drawn wands that hadn't been put away yet.

Ron scrambled to slip his wand back into his robes. "N-nothing, Harry." Hermione didn't answer; she looked downward at the cookie in her hands.

"The Weasel and his girlfriend tried to hex me," Malfoy announced clearly, motioning towards Ron. "I was going to protect myself."

Harry's face darkened, but the expression was gone instantly, leaving a near-emotionless face behind. "I thought we agreed not to fight."

For some reason, Ron felt completely ashamed and found himself trying to explain. "It wasn't like that at all, Harry-"

"You _weren't_ trying to duel Draco, then?"

"Well, I was, but see-"

Harry shook his head and wordlessly walked over to one of the remaining seats open. There was one for everyone, all arranged around a small table in the center of the room. Not surprisingly, Harry sat next to Draco, who shot Ron a smirk.

Ginny was what was surprising. She, with a determined set to her shoulders, walked over to Harry and stood in front of him, hands on her hips. "Aren't you even going to listen to my brother? He has a side to the story, too."

Hermione, who'd looked ready to talk to Harry, exchanged a look with Ron and settled back in her chair, fully content with watching the scene play out. So was Malfoy, who had half-leaned forward and was looking at Ginny distastefully. That expression made Ron want to stand up and sock the prat.

Harry looked back at her blandly. "What's to know? They were going to duel, even though they said they wouldn't."

"And have you ever broken a promise, Harry?" Ginny demanded shortly. "Haven't you-"

"No," Harry cut in shortly, "I haven't."

That stopped Ginny short. Whatever tirade she'd come up with wasn't standing up against his icy angry. Ron frowned, looking at Harry. Never broken a promise? _That_ was likely.

Harry stood up, and Malfoy stood with him. "I'm going for a walk," the Gryffindor announced in a low tone, straightening his robes to avoid looking them in the eye.

"Let's get going, then," Malfoy added, obviously ignoring the rest of them. "It's getting stuffy in here."

"I'm coming with you," Ginny started, but Malfoy stared at her.

"No you're not."

The redhead girl tilted her head. "Are you going to stop me?"

"If I have to."

Ron nudged Hermione's foot and she nodded, the two of them standing up. While Malfoy and Ginny were busy arguing, Harry had started towards the door and now Ron and Hermione followed him. He gave them a look, then seemed to shrug to himself, not stopping on his way out. The argument inside had reached near-shouting proportions by the time the door shut behind the three of them.

It was cool outside, enough to make Ron realize that temperatures were dropping. Not cold yet, not even close, but much cooler compared to the baking summer. Hermione had come back at the start of school with muggle forecasts of early fall and early winter, though Ron couldn't for the life of him understand how muggles knew the future weather patterns.

The fresh air was nice, Malfoy had been right about the room getting stuffy--when Ron got back, he'd open a window or something to air it out. A few other students were out, walking the grounds, but it was mid-morning and most of the French underclassmen were still in class.

Ron took in a deep breath and let it out, making a loud groaning sound. "I am _so_ happy we don't have to go to class."

Harry only glanced at him, then went back to looking ahead, but Hermione smiled a little. "I thought we covered that already."

"Remind me to thank you one of these days, Harry," Ron stated happily. "This is going to be my favorite year. It'll go down in the history books as the 'year of no class,' and everyone will hate me for it."

Harry made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat and kept walking. Ron took that to mean "keep talking, buddy." Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's still a few good hours 'til lunch--hey! Do you know what I just remembered? After you left dinner last night, Harry, Dumbledore dropped by. Isn't that something? You must have just missed him-"

"If you're bored, then you can always find something to do," Harry said suddenly, breaking in so easily that it was likely he hadn't been listening to a word Ron had been saying. Ron frowned, then mentally shrugged. At least Harry was talking now. That was the main thing.

"I thought that's what we were doing," said Ron, "looking for something to do."

Harry shook his head slightly. "I'm out here walking. Who knows what you two are doing."

"We're out walking with you," Hermione informed him promptly.

"I don't need a sitter."

Ron couldn't resist biting out, "Well, Malfoy sure figures you do." Hermione gave him a dark look. "It's true. He's always following you around, watching you..."

Harry sighed and looked at them. His green eyes were entirely captivating, enough so that Ron, for a moment, jerked back in surprise. Who had eyes that color? "It's obvious then, isn't it?" the boy stated wearily. He stopped to rub at his forehead, hand disrupting long black bangs enough to show a peek at a jagged lightening scar.

Ron was abruptly reminded of Harry's strange illness back at Hogwarts. That night, when Harry's hair had been matted down with sweat, that scar had strangely stuck out as if it was actively jutting from his forehead. Now, though, it looked relatively peaceful, like a birthmark.

Hermione pressed her lips together. "He is following you around a lot, Harry. I'm sure he has a reason to." Her voice was strained, like she was trying her best to be pacifying.

"And I'm sure you've already worked that reason out," Harry answered bitterly. "It's not to hard to put everything together, and you're supposed to be a clever witch." His tone turned self-depreciating. "I sure you've already decided that Lucius Malfoy must be trying to turn me, must be trying to use me to get to my brother. Harry Potter, the boy who doesn't know anything, who's never been to Hogwarts before. He must be totally naïve."

His face darkened with a sneer. "Would it surprise you to know that Draco's already figured out why _you_ three are here, too? And he managed to get to me first so, logically, I should believe him."

"I wouldn't trust anything Malfoy said," Ron counseled seriously, feeling a tinge bit nervous at this mood Harry was in. Personally, he thought that Malfoy was trying to use Harry exactly like that, but from the way Harry was acting, it wouldn't be too wise to say that.

"Funny, he said the same thing about you."

"What is he saying about us?" Hermione asked, trying to diffuse the situation. "Malfoy doesn't really like us, so I-"

"He said the same thing about you," Harry broke in, "and warned me that you'd try to make him out to be all-evil."

"Well, he is!"

Harry shook his head, looking away, green eyes departing. "So maybe it's true," he mused, almost to himself. "Maybe the only reason you three wanted to stay was to make sure I stayed away from Draco." His eyes glinted. "You should talk to Sirius, see what happens when _he_ tries to make me do something."

He started walking again, and Ron looked at Hermione with a confused expression. "Sirius?"

She thought about it for a moment, then snapped her fingers. "Sirius Black! He's godfather and legal guardian."

"Well, that sounded a little ominous to me."

"Think about it, Ron. It's just typical teenager behavior. If your mom tells you to do something you don't like, what do you do?"

"I do it, of course," he answered haughtily. "I may not like it, but she's my mum and-"

"Ron, you go to your room and sulk," Hermione corrected, starting to walk again. Ron's mouth dropped open, and he hurried up to her side.

"I do not!"

Hermione snorted. "Of course not. Remember, I was there that time you got in a fight because you didn't think you had to de-gnome the garden--it lasted for a couple days." She shrugged daintily. "Harry's just trying to scare us off. Let's just get back over there and see if he's cooled down any." She smiled and put her hand on his shoulder. "Maybe you should ask him to teach you some Quidditch moves. It's an icebreaker and I know Harry likes to fly. It'll give us something to talk about."

*

"You guys aren't going to play Quidditch again, are you?" Hermione asked, sounding pained. "You spent the last two days out there flying. Can't you think of something else?" Ginny walked into the room holding a broom, and Hermione groaned. "Not you, too, Ginny."

"You suggested it, Hermione," Ginny pointed out with a grin, switching her broom from hand to hand. "Ron told me all about how this was your idea to start with."

Ron looked up with a panicked look. "I did not!" he immediately denied. As Hermione stared at him, he flushed and slowly admitted, "Well, maybe I did... but honestly, Hermione, what else is there to do?"

Draco watched from the doorway as the scene played out between the two fifth-years started at it. They never really gave each other a rest--he had no idea how any relationship between the two could work out. And he had no idea why anyone would even care. Draco looked over at Harry. "Explain to me again what I'm doing."

Harry secured his wrist guard and looked up seriously. "Ron wants to some Quidditch. Since there's four of us who play, we can have even teams of two each."

Draco glanced back into the room, and frowned. "I hope you don't expect me to play with either of those Gryffindors."

Shrugged, Harry replied, "Then you can play on your own team, and Ginny will shout at you."

"Why are you playing on the Weasel's side?"

"He asked to play first." He brushed some hair out of his face, and continued, "Besides, I've been spending the last few days showing Ron some better broom techniques--while you hid in your room and refused to talk to anyone." He adjusted his gloves, and added, "I'd like to see if he remembered anything, or at the very least correct him when he makes a mistake. It's only fair."

Draco snorted. "Slytherins never play fair," he warned, "and we don't like to lose."

For once, Harry smiled softly. Finished putting all his equipment on, the Gryffindor looked squarely at the Slytherin. "You better learn to like it soon, because I like losing much less."

The Quidditch pitch, seeing as it was very near noon, was empty. There had been a class going on earlier, but lunch was coming around. That left the entire area clear for the four to do as they pleased. Hermione followed with a sulking expression on her face--she'd been enthusiastic enough when Harry had agreed to teach Ron some new moves, but that had been days ago and the witch wasn't interested enough to pretend she could excuse their obsession with the game.

She sat down near the edge of the pitch, conjuring herself up a deep-backed chair to rest in, and dragged out a book from somewhere, immediately immersing herself in it. Ron glanced towards her guilty, then mounted up on his broom, looking determined. "All right," he declared loudly, "I'm ready."

"It's a good thing we were all waiting for you, Weasley," Draco muttered, hovering a foot in the air on his broom. To himself, he murmured, "I don't know why I'm doing this."

Ginny flew up behind him, expression cool. "You can always leave, Malfoy," she informed him curtly.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Harry ended the upcoming argument by flying into the air gracefully, floating a few lengths above the rest of them. He pulled out a Galleon and causally transfigured in into a Quaffle. Looking at the others, who'd risen eagerly to play, Harry said, "First to a hundred wins?" Then he threw the Quaffle high in the air.

Draco was there first. His hand clenched around the biggish red ball, he headed immediately towards the end of the field directly above where Hermione was sitting. She didn't even blink as he passed by, the wind rushing in his wake. Her robes jerked back, her book's pages fluttered wildly, and she only continued reading.

Ginny was shouting something, but he was resolved to win this game by himself. And if she did manage to get the Quaffle anytime, he'd take it from her.

The goal was close enough, Draco judged, and he tossed the Quaffle through the air, turning upwards sharply. Gloating, Draco turned to survey his score--only to see Harry's robes zooming towards the other side of the pitch, Quaffle loosely caught up in one hand.

"Harry was right behind you," Ginny shouted, cupping one hand to her mouth as she tried to get ahead of the opposing side. "You should have looked!"

"Play the game," Draco snarled at her, but she was too far away to hear and had already turned to concentrate fully on the other two. Harry easily passed the Quaffle to Ron, who scored with a whoop. The Quaffle fell a few feet before Ginny was there, scooping it up and swiftly speeding towards the other side.

Draco was now in a perfect position to see the play: Harry, shouting something to Ron, zoomed to one side of the girl, coming close enough to fly neck-and-neck, coming close enough to intimidate. Ginny struggled to speed up, but Harry was right beside her the whole time. One second, then Ginny dropped a dozen yards, coming to a close halt in an attempt to lose him--and then, Ron fly by and plucked the ball out of her tense hands, flipping in the air to head back to his own goal.

Twenty-nothing, and Draco narrowed his eyes. He was beginning to catch onto something--what? not quite sure--and flew slowly to catch the Quaffle, thoughtfully watching as the other side drew back to half the pitch's length. He motioned for Ginny to hurry up, and the girl flew to him, a puzzled expression on her face.

"Do you have a plan?"

Shaking his head, Draco answered, "No, but I'm catching on to Potter's." He motioned to Ron. "Potter's only letting Weasley score."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "That doesn't mean anything at all-"

"It means that if we focus on Weasley, we'll be able to get the Quaffle back."

"HEY!" Ron called out. "ARE YOU GUYS GOING TO PLAY ANY TIME SOON?"

Ginny shrugged a shoulder. "It's good enough for a try." She looked between their brooms, slowly rising in the air. "Yours is faster, so why don't you chase after Harry and try to get him to pass it to Ron. I'll block Ron, then."

When Draco started up again, Harry and Ron were quietly talking to each other and then drew apart. The two came at him on different sides, looking like a double-faced monster. Draco zoomed higher in the air, counting on the thinness to speed him up, and grabbed his robes closer together as he shot off through the sky. Harry flew up beside him almost instantly, violently plowing into Draco's side.

"Shove off," Draco bit after the Gryffindor, drifting higher. He was at half-field length and getting closer, so he pressed his broom to go faster.

Harry pulled back, spacing it so that a broom could have fit between the two of them. They flew on, Draco trying to get faster and higher and Harry right beside him. At once, Harry sped up going fast enough that his robes looked ready to be stretched off of him into the wind. He pulled up in front of Draco and slowed down to almost a complete stop.

"BLOODY-" Draco shot down, barely missing the Gryffindor. He spun around vertically on his broom, glaring at Harry a moment before he zoomed onward upside down, the Quaffle still clenched between his fingers. His hands formed a knot to keep him to the broom, and his knees locked around the wooded shaft.

Before Draco started going fast, Harry had stood up on his broom and, in a single movement, leaped through the air to land on Draco's broom. Shocked, Draco's legs came undone and he hung in the air from his hands along, clinging to the broom desperately. There was a goodly distance from his height to the ground, and he had no intention of experiencing it. Calmly, Harry leaned over and plucked the Quaffle from Draco's fingers, then pulled himself up to his hovering broom.

When he turned to toss the Quaffle to Ron, Ginny was there and intercepted the pass. So close to the goals, she grinned and rushed to score.

Twenty--ten-

No one saw how Harry managed to throw himself in front of the Quidditch hoop before the Quaffle passed through the make a goal, but one moment it was a sure score and the next Harry was flying back to the other side, Ron staring a second before snapping out of it and smiling as he followed.

Draco pulled himself up and cursed, glaring at their backs. He called Ginny over again, determined to win the game. Thirty-zero? 'It's time,' he decided as the girl floated over, 'to play like a Slytherin.'

*

Hermione left as the game started getting violent. The score hadn't changed--Ron was still winning by fifty points, and Ginny was still losing with no points--the score hadn't changed in almost an hour. She'd been worried at first when Ron had fallen nearly ten feet, spraining his wrist, and then she'd been annoyed when no one else seemed to care. Ginny was practically as violent as Malfoy, purposely colliding with Ron. The strange thing was that no one was really paying any attention to Harry. From what Hermione could see, Harry was the real problem for Ginny: he'd get the Quaffle, get to the point where he could score, and then he'd always make the mistake of trying to get Ron to make the goal.

Maybe that's why they weren't worried, Hermione thought to herself as she got back into the apartments. She'd passed a few students; lunch was almost over and they were probably rushing about to get to their classes except for the other champions. Those had been conspicuously absent. There had been a rumor Hermione barely understood that the champions were catching sick by the doves, all of them coming down with some variation of the flu. She didn't believe it. She thought they were just getting out of preparing for the Tournament.

Did they think that they, too, didn't have to study whatsoever, like Ron thought? They didn't, technically, but honestly, everyone was acting too immature.

Irritated, Hermione slammed the door to the apartment behind her and wandered over to the kitchen, absently pulling out a sandwich.

As she walked back to the largest room there, chewing thoughtfully on her lunch, Hermione began to pull out the schoolbooks she'd bought at the beginning of the year. Whatever they'd left at Hogwarts had been sent to them a few days ago, and Hermione was extremely grateful for the distraction.

She flipped open a random book and began to drift through it, recognizing concepts she'd already learned and trying to understand things she didn't quite get.

By the time the others came back, she'd gone through two books and was on her third, scraps of parchment thrown hazardously around her and filled with her handwriting. There was a brief noting in her newest Transfiguration book about animagi, some hint that the fifth year was when students might actually begin seriously thinking about becoming one, and the door opened in time with her regretful sigh.

She touched the book ruefully. "I almost wish I was still at Hogwarts."

"Hermione?"

She shrieked and jumped up, wand clenched to her chest. Turning, and it was only Ron with a bemused expression on his... bruised face. "Sorry," he apologized with a grin, "I didn't mean to startle you or anything."

"Ron..." breathed Hermione, "you're bleeding."

He touched his cut lip and shrugged. "It's nothing," he dismissed, waving a hand carelessly. He dropped a load of Quidditch equipment to the floor with a loud thud, and then peeled off his grass and sweat-stained robes, tossing them to the ground as well. His clothing beneath was stuck to him with sweat, discolored with the liquid. "Besides, you should've seen the other guy."

Hermione shook her head, holding back the urge to massage her forehead. With a sharp look, she asked, "What exactly are you going to do with those clothes?" And then she waited a moment before adding, "They stink like a rotten-"

The door opened again, and Ginny walked in with a bright grin. Hermione's eyes widened and she took an involuntary step forward, catching Ginny's face and staring unbelievingly. The girl's face was as bad as Ron's, and it looked like she had a swollen eye. "Ginny Weasley," Hermione began slowly, her voice rising with every word, "what in the world were you thinking?!"

"Hermione," Ron tried to cut in, sounding pained.

"Stay out of this, Ron," Hermione snapped, not turning away from the paling girl. "If you want to go around and get yourself beat up, that's fine. But Ginny... your mother, she told me I have to watch out for you! Playing Quidditch is fine, but _this_, whatever _this_ is, it isn't fine." Hermione pulled back and nervously wrung her hands together. "You're mom's going to be furious at me if she finds out. She told me that she trusted me-"

"Hermione, calm down," Ginny ordered, stepping back and looking irritated. "It's not like I've never played Quidditch before, or gotten hurt before. I can take care of myself."

The door shut, bringing attention to the last two boys. Malfoy was just as bad (which helped calm Hermione down a little, even if she would never admit it) but Harry looked just fine, almost the same as he did when he left in the first place that morning. Harry glanced at Hermione for a moment, then walked on past the whole group and to his own rooms. A second later, water for the shower began running.

"Prat," Malfoy said softly to himself, but loud enough that it carried to everyone else, "leave me with them, will you?"

Hermione took a deep breath and threw her hands in the air, walking back to where she'd been reading. With a determined air, she sat back down and pulled her book up, almost glaring at the words before her. Malfoy waited only a few more seconds, shifting from foot to foot with a forced expression on unconcern, and then he also took off towards the back bedrooms.

Ginny stripped off just like her brother, and her clothing was just as stained. She stood and stared at Hermione, arms crossed over her chest. "Is there anything else you want to add, Hermione?" she asked scathingly. "Maybe you're going to insist that I keep up on my reading like any other good girl."

"Be quiet, Ginny," Ron commanded, slipping wearily in the chair next to Hermione.

Hermione pulled the book down with a jerk and watched the younger girl coolly. "You know," she commented lightly, "I think that's an excellent idea. I'm sure Professor McGonagall wouldn't mind sending us some learning material to keep up on our studies this year-"

"I _was_ only kidding," Ginny cut in, eyebrows lowering in worry. When Hermione made an indifferent sound and went back to her book, Ginny paused and then stalked to her bedroom.

Ron waited until she was out of earshot, and then he sighed deeply, stretching his arms out and closing his eyes, trying to relax. But his eyes popped open again and he looked at Hermione warily. She was ignoring him, pretending to read her book but her eyes were almost glued to some single word, never moving. Deciding to take his chances, Ron tried to casually ask, "Er, what else did my mom tell you?"

Hermione slammed her book down violently and glared at it. Ron jerked back in surprise, mouth dropping open. "Geez, Hermione, I didn't mean anything by it."

"Ron, I've been under a lot of stress lately," Hermione started in a low tone, "and most of it seems to be coming from your family."

"If you mean those pranks the twins pulled on you over the summer, I want you to know they do that to everyone, not just you-"

"It's not that, Ron. It's this." She made a gesture to include the room. "The whole tournament thing. I've really been thinking about it hard, and I can't make any sense of it whatsoever." She gently closed the book, laying her hand on it and looking at Ron with thoughtful eyes. "Harry doesn't seem to care about it at all, so someone has to-"

"That's not true," Ron interrupted, his face screwing up in an expression.

"It is true. Harry's not even thinking about what the tasks might be, but he's supposed to be spending his time preparing for the--not playing Quidditch."

"You did-"

"I only suggested you get something to talk about between the two of you. I thought you'd only be flying for an hour or so, not since the beginning of the week. And you've dragged Ginny into it-" She held up a hand, stopping herself. "What I'm saying is that I'm just really worried that the tasks are going to come, and Harry's not going to be prepared at all. Remember last year, how everyone else was ready for the dragons but Cedric didn't have a clue? It cost us everything."

Ron looked almost angry. "I think it'd be better for Harry to be out relaxing instead of worry. Haven't you seen how much easier he is with us? When he first tried teaching me some new things, he didn't even want to fly to show me. Now... now he's kicking Malfoy from one end of the pitch to the other. He's loosening up, Hermione, and isn't that what you wanted in the first place?"

She looked torn and glanced down, toying with the book's cover. "I guess so, but-"

"But?"

"But I still think..." she trailed off, thinking about it. "I still think that Harry should be spending at least a little time getting ready. We have no idea what we'll be facing."

"I say that if Harry isn't concerned, we shouldn't be."

"Somebody has to be," Hermione repeated, "and if it ends up that I'm the only one, then I'm probably going to pull apart at the stems. You saw what just happened." She sunk her face into her hands. "Ah... Ginny's going to be so angry... I didn't even really have a reason to yell at her, but I needed something to blow up at."

Harry stepped away from the hallway, having heard all he wanted to hear. Ron was beginning to try and soothe the witch, and Harry didn't need to stick around for that.

Clean and fresh, Harry walked thoughtfully back to his rooms. He'd chosen first, the one furthest away from the front door, and he'd chosen it because its ceiling arched towards the west, leaving a huge sunroof towards the eastern sky open. The sun was at the top of its rise, with only a long and gradual collapse coming up that would cut the light off from Harry's room in the upcoming hours. With his sloping windows, his room was the first to be the first cut off when the sun failed, but it was also the first to catch a glimpse of the stars that bloomed in the sun's blazing death-trail. And it was also the first, after those stars were pushed to the background when a brighter light appeared, to see the rebirth of the sun in the morning.

His hair was still wet. Water dripped to his shirt, wetting the shoulders like a cold hand.

Harry walked over to his bed, laying down and pressing his hair into his pillow, hoping the material would soak up any more moisture. The game had left his muscles tensed and his magic ready, like a warm-up that promised further exercise only to end early. Even his damp hair tingled with waiting magic.

The showers ran continually, and since Draco was moving around in the room adjacent to Harry's, Harry could only guess that Ginny was trying to drown herself in an incessant down-pouring of hot water. If she spent too long, he'd get up and ask her what was wrong, even though he knew, but she would probably feel better talking about it-

The water shut off abruptly, and that train of thought went with it.

Closing his eyes, Harry relaxed. Hermione's idea was a good one--and the Hogwarts professors would probably send any book from their library if Harry asked for it "in preparation for the Tournament." Hermione would be too happy to pick up her role as mock-professor; she was probably ahead enough to actually teach the others something. Ginny would like it, too, once she realized that Hermione would be teaching her advanced subjects, getting her a year ahead of her peers. Draco would object and so would Ron, one saying that he refused to be taught by an uncertified teenager and the other merely being lazy, but Harry was sure a few words could turn both of them.

Vaguely, he wondered what Lucius was doing, wondered if the wizard was planning anything. His thoughts drifted to Leo, and he fell asleep.

*

"This is getting to be too much," she complained heartily, plump hand curled up in an impressive fist. She motioned to all the sickbeds in her hospital wing, each one filled with more makeshift ones in every available space. "How am I supposed to be caring for each of these students? Especially when I am told I _cannot_?" 

"Madam, we never said you cannot care for them,"~ the Minister corrected in a pained voice. "We only said-"

"I know what is going on." The fist uncurled and became an accusing finger, shaking right under his nose. "Don't think I cannot see!" 

"Madam, control yourself!" 

She let out a huff of breath, sounding like an angry bull ready to charge. "Control myself? I am _being_ controlled! I refuse to stand for it--it goes against every medical upbringing I've ever had, every principle I've ever been taught." 

"Will if comfort you to know-"

"Nothing will comfort me." 

"-that no one will be hurt? Please, madam, believe when I tell you that everything has been taken care of." His patience sounded ready to run out, and he firmly said, "Now, you have two choices. You may either continue on this pointless protest or you may continue with your job. The latter will insure that you keep your position as nurse of this school, the former will not." Putting his hat on his head, he gave her one sharp look. "Make your choice wisely." 

"Wisely?" She snorted as soon as he was gone from the room. It was full of the sounds of moans and aches and pains, and she was pained to hear it. Determined, she went to the least sick of the bunch, an Irish girl. "Do you understand me?" The girl nodded weakly, but at least she was able to nod at all. "I want you to get along the school and warn everyone to stay away from the other champions, do you understand? You are all sick, and the only way to fix anything is to make sure that no one else catches it until a solution shows itself. Do you understand?"

Another weak nod. The girl got up and managed to get out of the door. How long before she collapsed and was brought back was anyone's guess. In consideration, the whole exercise was turning out to be pointless. What were those men thinking to prove by this? Constant vigilance? Or was this the first gloating right?

*

There was such a thing as going too far: cutting off someone's hand for stealing a piece of fruit was one of the more extreme examples. Sirius Black, however, did not believe in such a thing as going too far. Not where his godson was concerned. He had spent years taking care of the boy, through the war and after, and while he hadn't been the best godfather, he'd been Harry's only one. And he'd be damned to hell before he let Harry get into intentional danger.

Besides, he'd waited a week since attempting to get answers out Dumbledore. He considered that more than reasonably, and since no answers were forthcoming it was more than time to take things into his own hands.

Dusk had fallen, the darkness having laid claim to the land for nearly an hour, by the time Sirius was able to convince Minister Fudge to sign a special permission slip giving Sirius full rights to Beauxbatons campus. It wouldn't have taken so long if Fudge hadn't been buried neck-deep in week-old papers that needed signing, but even the relatively short waiting had left Sirius in a terribly bad mood; Fudge would be sweating bullets for weeks.

There were only a few Aurors on duty, and they all recognized both him and the Ministry paper clenched in his hand, giving him no more than respectful salutes as he walked by. Normally, Sirius wouldn't mind at all. Now, with his godson's safety at stake, he glared daggers at the men, forcing the Aurors to abruptly stiffen up, expressions vaguely worried.

He stopped the chief Auror at the door to the Great Hall, where he could hear students conversing as dinner got underway, and grumbled, "You're men are slacking. I'm going to be running inspections after dinner. You better have fixed that."

The Auror saluted smartly. "Yes, sir."

Sirius tuned the reply out and stood in front of the doors for a moment, gathering up his thoughts and courage, then he walked into the room.

Hundreds and hundreds of students were everything, all talking avidly and all making such a racket that his entrance into the hall was hardly noticed. Those who saw him passed him off as nothing more than another professor walking in late, and dismissed him.

The Great Hall at Beauxbatons was a beautiful place. Long elegant tables stretched from one end to the other, long enough to accommodate everyone with space left over. The walls were enchanted the same as the ceiling of Hogwarts: pristine glass that reflected through the outside, making the hall seem nothing more than a ceiling and floor. From the outside, the building looked solid; from the inside, it didn't look like a building at all.

Sirius carefully walked around the room, trying to pick out his godson from the racket but unable to do so. There was seemingly no order to the seating arrangements, and no obvious table where the champions would sit. Only one table was arranged differently, and that was the Headmasters' table, where all the professors sat and talked and ate while keeping an eye out on their students.

The doors opened and closed over and over again as students came and left, then returned. Sirius leaned against a wall, trained against the wall's magical illusion, and started to orderly scan through the tables one by one. The doors opened, and annoyed, Sirius looked over to tell someone to just leave the blasted things open, and his breath caught.

Harry walked in. He looked different--he looked tired and unhappy and ready to collapse.

Taking no notice of the four people walking in with Harry, Sirius stormed over to his godson. "Harry!" The teenager looked up, face going white in surprise, and Sirius snatched his arm, dragging him outside. The Aurors respectfully shut the door behind them.

"Sirius?" Harry asked, jerking his arm back. The boy looked around completely shell-shocked. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to get you pulled out," Sirius answered brashly, grabbing Harry's arm again and turning. "Where's that Minister? Was he in there?"

"The Ministers all left the same day the governors did," the teenager answered, tone a bit chilled. 

Sirius turned around quickly, staring at Harry. "The governors were here? Lucius Malfoy was here?" Sirius let go of Harry's arm and instead clenched the boy's shoulders. Almost desperately, he asked, "Did he say anything to you, Harry, anything at all? Did he try to come near you anytime?"

There was some sort of disgust on Harry's face, and Sirius relaxed his grip. The mere thought of a Death Eater being anywhere near him was probably sickening to the teenager--"He did," came the answer, this time with unmistakable frigidness. "In fact, Mr. Malfoy allowed be to stay at the governor's apartments while he was there."

Sirius's eyes widened.

Harry jerked back and took a step away, eyes never losing their disgust. 'Is that...' Sirius wondered dazedly. 'Could that possibly be directed at me?'

"Harry," his voice cracked, and he swallowed before continuing. "Harry, you don't understand. Lucius Malfoy-"

"I thought all charges were dropped against him."

"Don't be an idiot," Sirius snapped, trying to keep his hands from shaking. The idea that _Lucius Malfoy_ had had Harry for a week... He couldn't keep his hands from shaking. "Don't you remember anything I've told you over the years about how a lot of Death Eaters kept out of Azkaban?"

"Yes, and I also remember all your descriptions _of_ Azkaban," Harry calmly shot back. "The way I see it, I'll excuse anyone who doesn't want to go there."

"Even someone who's done what they've done?!" he nearly shouted back. Swallowing again, Sirius clenched his hands into fists.

Harry's eyes had narrowed, the green color staring back at him with vivid accusation. "What they're rumored to have committed," his teenager godson answered again with chilling legality, "and many of those allegations were dismissed because those witches and wizards were more than likely forced against their will. How can you condemn someone who had no choice in the matter?"

"The hell they didn't!" Sirius exploded, his memories of the war and those mock trials still haunting him. He had been there the time Lucius Malfoy slipped through the law, had seen the man's gloating expression as he walked free from his crimes. Hands shaking worse--body beginning to shake--Sirius tried to focus again on what he'd come here to do.

'After this,' he silently promised Harry with a voice dripping of venom, 'we're going to have a long talk about the Death Eaters, and you're going to finally understand just how evil they were.'

"Fine," Sirius responded, voice ready to break, "but that doesn't change the matter. I'm still pulling you out. I've already had your attendance dropped at Hogwarts."

"Really?" Harry's face went white in disbelief. There was a glimmer of something in the boy's eyes, something like homesickness, and Sirius almost felt a little better. Then his godson's face darkened, unbelief growing stronger. "Really?" he repeated, sounding completely cynical. "And I suppose this is supposed to make me happy?"

Sirius felt a bubble of anger rise up, and he ruthlessly squashed it. As reasonably as he could, he answered, "I thought you didn't want to go to Hogwarts. Aren't you happy at being able to leave?"

"Oh yes," he godson replied sarcastically. Harry motioned abruptly with his arms. "It's a good thing I'm still at Hogwarts. It's a good thing I'm not _bound_ by a magical contract to this Tournament-"

"What?" It felt like his breath was knocked out of his lungs. Harry literally not being able to leave?

His godson's lips turned up in a vicious smirk. "No one told you? Even thinking-" He cut off with a quick breath, emerald eyes glazing over for a second. Harry swallowed, and then he laughed hollowly. "Even thinking about leaving comes with a punishment."

Harry shoved out his hands. On the palm of each hand, nail marks dug in deeply. When Sirius looked up, Harry's face was void of any expression. "Hurts worse than anything I've felt before," his godson remarked dryly, drawing his hands back, "and now, two people know."

Sirius reached out to grab those hands, examine the wounds a bit more, stunned so that he could hardly think.

"Wasn't it you who wanted to send me here in the first place?" Harry went on in his same dry voice, body not resisting at all as Sirius almost violently pulled his hand back. "Make friends, have fun, learn something." He laughed again, that same hollow sound. "Looks like I'm about to do it all. The good part is that Hermione said nobody died last year--someone came near enough on the first task, but didn't actually die. The bad part is that, while they only had three tasks, I have ten."

Sirius looked up at Harry, horrified.

His godson looked back calmly. "That's like three times the chance at dying, isn't it?"

It felt like someone was repeatedly pounding on his body. He could hardly breath. Shakily, Sirius reached up to touch Harry's forehead, fingers barely scrapping on his godson's scar. "Harry... oh Merlin, Harry..."

His godson was only a child. Harry couldn't handle this--they were going to kill him. Sirius could see it now, Harry flying in the face of some dragon, those sharp jaws clenching down--and, of course, sending him to Hogwarts was his idea in the first place. His own words came back to haunt him mockingly: _Harry's missing out on his friends and his adventures. Harry gets lonely here sometimes. Harry just needs to get away. You see how he is here: he's always quiet and he's always sad. You don't want Harry to be sad, do you?_

And of course, being sad was so much worse than being dead.

Harry's expression, as Sirius's fingers grazed his scar, contorted and he suddenly was glaring down with vindictive anger. "Don't touch me," he snapped, pulling away jerkily. "Don't ever touch me again. All you wanted was to get me away, get me out of the house. Now you have it--I might never come back. I hope you happy."

"I'm your godfather," Sirius started with broken-heart slowness. "Harry, I would never want anything to happen to you. I'd do anything to keep you safe--I'm going to do everything in my power." 'Magical contract?' his mind screamed, pulling out of its depression and already working to recall anything he could about the subject.

Harry's eyes narrowed again, green slits that were almost burning with rage. "Godfather? I'm surprised you even know my name. The only time you cared about me was when the mood suited you, when you had time. Before my parents were murdered, you couldn't be bothered to spend any time with your godson."

Sirius winced at that, body physically reacting to the statement. "Harry, your parents were wanted by the Ministry. Even if I knew where to find you, visiting would only lead Aurors there-"

"And you couldn't find a way around it?" Harry snarled, drawing back further. "Not you, the highest-ranking Auror before the war ended?" He spoke the honor like it was a crime.

"You think the Ministry just allowed anyone free reign? It was a war, Harry!" Sirius tried to escape his memories of that time, knowing that _yes_ the Ministry had no power whatsoever over the Aurors, that _yes_ he could have visited if he'd really tried. But it was a war, and he'd been the best at what he'd been doing and more people needed his protection than his old friends whose names were beginning to look shady and who Sirius knew he couldn't help and who he couldn't find anyway-

"Don't try to let them take the blame," Harry shot back cuttingly. "Don't think I don't know why you never came. You were too busy in the war, weren't you? Torturing innocent people on my birthday no doubt. Likely bombing family homes at night while they sleep unaware, which is probably the best way to go when you're concerned."

Those were memories Sirius had never wanted.

By the time Sirius could even respond, Harry disappeared into the night. His godson had been backing up continuously until only a voice surfaced from the dark. When Sirius realized his godson was gone, he didn't know whether it would be better to collapse in relief or go searching, go explain and show him what really was going on, get him to understand that he _had_ to, that he had no choice, that he didn't want to, that he was still haunted...

There was a movement in the darkness, and Sirius jumped from his skin. Memories from the war clouding his thinking, he shot first before given any sound to announce his presence by. There were three different cries as his capturing web ensnared the spies, and Sirius was on to them by the time his mind started working again.

There were four different teenagers huddled behind a tree, obviously having heard some part of Sirius's conversation. He saw one of them, and nearly went for a spell again before he caught himself and let the Malfoy boy alone.

"Who are you?" Sirius demanded hoarsely. "What are you doing?" He raised his wand threateningly. "What did you hear?"

"One question at a time, Black," the Malfoy child replied with his father's disdain. "If we answered them all at the same time, you'd probably forget what you asked in the first place."

Sirius willed his magical web to tighten around the Slytherin, and took cruel satisfaction from the boy's soft gasp. Impudent pup, learned it from his father, would grow up to be his father, Lucius Malfoy, Harry-

"Just answer the questions," Sirius ordered tightly, trying to hold reign over his thoughts.

"Black?" one of the girls gasped, the redheaded one. "Auror Black?"

The boy beside her, also redheaded, looked similar enough that Sirius made the connection immediately. "Weasleys?" She nodded frantically. "What are you doing here? I thought all Hogwarts students were sent home."

"Idiot, I tell you," Malfoy breathed out. It sounded like it pained him enough to say it that Sirius ignored the temptation to further tighten his bonds.

"Harry invited us to stay," the other girl responded nervously, shooting worried glances at Malfoy. "Even Malfoy, here. We were out looking for him--we didn't realize that it was _you_ who'd taken him at dinner. The Auror wouldn't let us out at first because he knew we wanted to follow you, so we really didn't hear anything."

"Not much," the Weasley boy agreed enthusiastically, his eyes frantically switching from the two girls to Sirius. 'Not much,' his eyes told Sirius, 'but enough.' There was fear in his eyes. Was everyone so afraid of Aurors?

Sirius waited a moment longer before reluctantly dispelling the magical web. The four all relaxed, Malfoy taking in a breath of shaky air. The Slytherin stood, dusting off his robes, and stared accusingly at Sirius. "I hope you know that I can report you for that," the boy shot out indignantly. "Harassment, they call it."

"Shove it, Malfoy," the Weasley boy got out before Sirius could, giving Malfoy a dirty look. "I don't think anyone would really care what you report. Straight to the garbage shoot with that." Then he nervously looked back to Sirius. "Um, thank you, sir. Now, we really ought to be going-"

"Where's Potter?" Malfoy demanded, ignoring the other's comment remarkably well. "I'm not going to let you intimidate me-"

"That'll do, Mister Malfoy," Sirius interrupted coolly, having had enough to deal with. His mind felt like it was going to explode--what did they hear?--and he was getting tired of dealing with adolescent boys. Without another word, he turned around and left. If he couldn't get Harry off of Beauxbatons now, then he'd make sure nothing would happen to Harry until the solution showed itself. He was going to make his inspection of the Aurors the toughest one he ever made. 


	18. Chapter XVII

****

Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

__

She was backing away on tiptoe when the voices stared up again, but more softly now. After that she could make out less of what they were actually talking about, but she kept hearing some words over and over again. At first the things they were saying seemed to be about Grub and Robinson, but then some different words became a part of it. Words like Willie _and _Salinas_ and later others like _blame_ and _fault_. At last she tiptoed down the hall and out onto the front porch. Sitting down on the steps, she stared out at the ocean._

For a while, she only sat and stared and thought how just last night she had sat at the very same spot and told herself that the summer was starting out so well... And now... She sighed and let her head drop down until her forehead rested on her knees. Sitting there she began to feel a swirling sensation as if the floor was dropping out from under her. As if a strong floor that had always kept everything safe and comfortable had begun to dissolve and she was about to go floating into empty space. Empty space, endless and dark... Lifting her head, she opened her eyes to see if there really was darkness...

The Trespassers, Zilpha Keatley Snyder

****

Chapter XVII

"Harry?"

"Please," he answered, voice hoarse and breathing uneven, "please, just don't talk to me."

She swallowed and backed away slowly, moving to shut the door behind her. He didn't moved once, and it was frightening to see him like that, hunched up beneath the window, staring at nothing. Just before she shut the door, the light from the hallway reflected on his eyes, the green color seeming to glow with pain. She shut the door gently, making only a small click of noise.

*

He felt strangely satisfied with the situation at large, which was strange. There was no real reason for it. When he'd been yelling, it felt more like someone was egging him on than any personal hatred Harry held against the man. Anger, yes, but never did Harry really feel anything in that extreme.

He also felt immensely bitter. Who did Sirius think he was, walking in to the school, coming to pull him out? Everything was a mockery, from Sirius's words to his own weakness in wanting to believe it, some part of it. His body almost physically ached with the sense of being torn two different ways.

Harry slowly rolled out. His muscles were getting cramped, all held together in tense agony. It had seemed, for a moment there, that his childhood memories washed over his all over again, reviving his horror at being in such close proximity to an Auror, in having one touch him... he hadn't thought at all; he'd only run to a safe place and curled up, waiting for someone.

No one had come.

'Who am I waiting for?' Harry wondered, stretching out on the floor and thoughtfully crossing him arms behind his neck, staring through the open window to the glass world outside where stars shined beautifully against the dark lavender of space. The moon glowed gently, a divination orb of the universe to tell of the future.

His eyes drifted closed again, mind dropping into deep conversation with itself until even those whispers became hushed tones and then nothing at all. His dreams were as bitter as he was.

*

There wasn't much to be done. Without classes or guidance, the teenagers' only real options were to lounge about or play Quidditch. Hermione and a particularly violent rainstorm cut off the last option, leaving the teenagers sitting quietly in the largest room of the apartment.

The rain began letting up, ending its howling, roof-beating attacks with softer drumbeats of water droplets. Ginny blinked lazily, cuddled up on her chair with a book in her lap. She couldn't remember what it was about, and it slipped closed, losing her page number as she yawned and stretched out her arms.

Hermione looked up interestedly from her own book, then she glanced around the room. "Are you finished, yet?"

Ron glanced up lazily, eyes slightly unfocused, then hurriedly skimmed the open book before him. "Um, not yet, but this... this really is interesting."

"This is boring," Ginny corrected quietly, taking care that Hermione didn't hear her. She yawned again, blinking back sleepy tears, and settled back onto the chair. Louder, she asked, "Hermione, could you show me some more spells? I really can't just learn from a book." To emphasize, the tossed the heavy fourth-year schoolbook down on the ground where it landed with a thump. Hermione had lent it to her, but the words seemed to blur on the page rather than travel to her mind. It was like trying to read gibberish.

Hermione smiled brightly. "Of course! Which spell were you talking about?"

Ginny shrugged, then as Hermione's smile started to fade, she quickly answered, "Um, that one Transfiguration spell."

Face concentrating, Hermione frowned. "Cross-species switches?" Ginny nodded hurriedly. "I can see where you might have some trouble with it, the spell is rather difficult. Here, repeat after me-"

"This is bloody boring," Ron echoed Ginny's earlier statement, but much louder.

Hermione froze, her face flushing, and she glared at him. "Is there something else you'd rather be doing?" she asked stiffly. "Or do you think you can just float through this school year?"

"That was my original plan," he confessed guiltlessly, lazily letting his limbs sprawl across the floor in what looked like a decidedly uncomfortable pose. He fidgeted, then flung the book away. "I don't think that spending all our time reading pinched books will get us anywhere."

Her face flushed again. "They're not pinched! McGonagall sent them to us--she thought we were being very mature about the whole thing, but I know why she had a hard time believing that you'd trouble yourself with this. Ronald Weasley, you are a lazy git at times."

If he took any offense to her accusations, he didn't show it. Instead, he stood up and stretched, popping a few joints in the process, and glanced down at Ginny hopefully. "Hey, Gin, you want to play a round of chess?"

His little sister skewed up her face and shook her head sharply. "I know how you play, Ron, and I'd like to keep some part of my dignity intact, thank you very much."

Hermione was about to interrupt their smooth exchange when a door opened. All three froze, bodies going still with expectation as footsteps wandered down the hall. When a blond head followed by pale skin walked into the room, expression slightly uneasy, the three sighed with disappointment. With unspoken agreement, they each went back to their respective books, Ron practically scowling into the pages.

Malfoy glared at them, then unexpectedly rubbed his arms in a nervous fashion. "Potter's not up yet, I take it," he finally said after standing in the uncomfortable silence for a few moments.

Hermione looked up uneasily, biting the inside of her cheek, and she slowly answered, "He's... he's up, at least. Harry hasn't come out yet, but we could hear him moving about not too long ago."

"Why do you want to know?" asked Ron aggressively, turning his scowl up towards the Slytherin. "You're probably the reason why Harry doesn't want to come out in the first place-"

"Hush, Ron," Hermione interrupted, grinning widely. Ginny stayed staring into her pages, lips tugging upwards. "You know that's not true. Besides," she gave the Slytherin a contemptuous look, "if Harry had a problem, he'd be able to take care of it."

Malfoy rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "Sometimes, I wonder why I even bother," he said aloud to no specific person."

"Because you agreed to," another voice answered. Unheard, Harry had walked down the hall. He was in the process of throwing on a raincoat, and paused at the looks on everyone's faces. Raising an eyebrow, Harry coolly said, "Good morning."

"Good morning, Harry," Ginny replied, looking up from her book again. Her face was concerned. "Are you-"

"I'm going out for awhile," Harry cut in.

Frowning, the little witch tried again. "Harry, just-"

"I know it's raining, but I thought I'd get a bit of fresh air."

"Harry, you have to-"

He turned on her, addressing her for the first time. Eyes lit up with some remnant of the anger displayed the night before, he said, "You're always telling me what I can and can't do, Virginia. I think it's about time that I start making my own decisions."

She flinched back, and the others watched with varying expressions of interest, but they were fully tuned out of the conversation.

Harry continued his verbal attack, never taking a step towards her, or even moving much at all. "Was everything you said rubbish? I thought you said that I needed to start living my own life," and he spat the words out like a curse, "yet here you go, cheerfully going about on how that life needs to be done." He paused and took a ragged breath. "Here you go, acting like you have any say in the matter whatsoever, like you really know me enough to be telling me what to do."

"I know you better than some people," Ginny shot back viciously, and her eyes streaked over to Malfoy.

Harry glanced at the Slytherin as well, and he muttered, "You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?"

"Both of you, knock it off," Hermione broke in angrily, standing up and throwing her book down on the couch. "Now, there's no need for this childishness. Harry, I don't know..." her voice cracked, "I don't know what's brought this over you, but Ginny doesn't deserve that."

"What do you want him to do?" Malfoy asked, drawing the attention back to himself. He was looking at Harry, but sneaked a quick sneer her direction. "Apologize and swear never to do it again? You just want him to dance on your strings, don't you?" Harry took in a deep breath at that, closing his eyes momentarily. "Let's get out of here, Potter."

Ginny, face a little pale, stood bravely and walked in their direction. "You think we're the ones trying to control Harry, do you? Take a look at yourself sometime, Malfoy, and you'll see who the real puppet master is."

"All of you, calm down," Ron shouted from his forgotten corner. "Geez, what's all this about? 'Who's controlling who'? Sounds like some sick play."

Harry fastened the raincoat over his shoulders and resolutely turned towards the door, opening it. The rain was now only a light splattering of drops. "Sounds like some sick reality," he uttered, face dark. He tossed a look over at Malfoy. "Did you say you were coming?"

"I said I was," Ginny volunteered, pulling out her own raincoat.

"And I said you weren't," the Slytherin contested, quickly walking behind Harry and shutting the door after himself.

Ginny thew the coat on and tore the door opened, glaring around. "No way I'm going to let Malfoy talk to Harry alone," she said to herself. "Who knows what he'll be going on about."

When the door shut again, Ron snorted. "Drama, that's all this place really is. Like one of mum's radio shows, where everyone's going after everyone and nobody's left out of the loop except the one fellow who really counts." He paused to reflect on that, and turned to Hermione. "Do you think that's me? Everyone else here has some theory going on where Harry's concerned."

Hermione sighed and gently recovered her book. "I don't know," she admitted heartlessly. "I don't know about any of this. I mean, no one even wants to try and learn, and Harry's going off with that Malfoy boy, and last night..." She shuddered. "I think last night really ruined Harry for us."

Ron looked at her, worried. Something wasn't quite right with the witch; her coloring was too pale. He touched her arm. "Are you all right? You look a little ill."

She swallowed and leaned back into the chair, head flopping against the backboard. "I don't even know about that. I've been feeling sick for awhile now."

"Maybe I should go fix you up something to eat?"

"No." Hermione shook her head. With only the two of them their, the house felt abandoned and hushed. Ron looked around, feeling like something was watching him, and then glanced back at her. "No, I think it was something I ate."

"At breakfast?" He thought back: the meal had been a sorry affair, consisting of the three of them shuffling through the rain to the Great Hall, eating their meals in damp silence, and getting back before they were completely soaked to the bone.

Shaking her head again, she said, "A few days ago, when the rest of you were playing Quidditch, this house-elf came up to me with a plate of sandwiches for Harry. I ate one, and that's when my stomach started hurting." She paused, taking a deep breath, and in that instant she looked perfectly fine. The next, though, her face pinched up in pain. "It's really starting to get bad."

Ron frowned. "You just ate some sandwiches? What, were they rotten?"

"Do you really think I wouldn't notice if they'd gone bad?" she asked sarcastically.

Hermione stood up, rubbing her belly soothingly, then straightened up suddenly. "There, it's gone."

"It's gone? Just like that?" Ron looked suspicious.

Ignoring his look, Hermione started to walk to where she'd tossed her raincoat. "Yea. It only hurts every once in a while." She picked up the plastic thing and held it up, frowning as it dripped water everywhere. "I thought it'd be dry by now. How long has it been since lunch?"

"But you said it's getting worse," Ron repeated, clinging to the subject with a little worry. He followed her to the raincoat and picked up his own, mimicking her as she put hers on.

She shrugged. "Only for a little while, and then it' gone. Nothing I can't handle."

"Do you want to go to the hospital wing?"

"Even if I knew where it was, I don't think this is really that big of an emergency." She smiled wryly. "Just relax, Ron. I'm sure my body will flush it out in the next few days. Whatever 'it' is."

He let out a breath of air, and opened the door for her. "Whatever you say, Hermione. You think we'll catch up with them?" They stepped out the door and swung it shut, then began walking.

The rain drizzled down into a miserable fog, but the dampness of it all had left the ground soft enough to swallow up feet and leave obvious trails. Hermione pointed to the footprints. "We can always just follow those."

"Right." He rolled his eyes as they started walking. "Leave me to be the blind one."

*

The fact that the press had been kept in the dark for so long was staggering. How was it that not so much as a rumor escaped from Beauxbatons, to better prepare the country for its latest shock? A fifteen-year-old champion, one who was only just beginning his formal education? The idea of leaving the school's good reputation in the hands of someone like that was ludicrous.

__

"How are your flying lessons going, Leonard?"

"Excellent! A few days ago, I won against Sirius and Remus."

Leo, of course, picked up on the angry tides of emotion right away as he waited for his monthly press conference to begin. One witch, the one with the entertaining spectacles, was strangely absent, but the young wizard couldn't bring himself to care. She wrote the best articles, but it seemed like there was some sort of sarcastic undercurrent that, aside from himself, only Harry was able to pick up on.

__

"Does the house feel empty at all, now that your brother's gone?"

"No, because even though he's not with me here, I know that he's thinking about me and that he's worrying about me. If anything, then Harry being gone only means that I always feel like he's watching me, and I can't check to see if he really is."

Minister Fudge stood behind him, bubbling with nervous energy as always, and Leo turned to smile and pat the man's hand reassuringly. The cameras captured the moment, and the reporters gushed. "Are you all right, Minister?" the young boy asked innocently, golden eyes wide with concern.

__

"How do you feel about the latest Ministry policy concerning dark creatures?"

"I think it's about time some respect was given. Vampires and werewolves may not be human, but they have feelings, too. I live with Remus Lupin, and I don't think anyone else could have raised me better. Except for my parents, of course."

Fudge smiled down at Leo, and despite the tense glint in his eyes, the Minister nodded. "Nothing to worry yourself about, Leonard. Just Ministry business."

__

"How are your home studies going?"

"Almost as good as my flying lessons, but I guess that nothing's as exciting as Quidditch."

Leo's eyes blinked, and showed for a moment an astounding intelligence. Then he grinned mindlessly back up, obviously giving way to the Minister's words. "All right."

__

"Are you going to be attending Hogwarts?"

"Of course! Where else could I possibly go?"

Fudge didn't notice. He patted the kid's head, sure to smile in that grandfatherly sort of way that Dumbledore was so good at.

__

"What House do you think you'll end up in?"

"Gryffindor. My parents both came from that house, and my brother's been Sorted there, so it's almost in the family."

Said wizard was currently waiting a few seats away, eyes half-closed in some mockery of sleep. Leo glanced towards the headmaster, wondering what he was doing here and then forgetting all about it as a Ministry official began to speak, addressing the crowds and calling for absolute silence. The official finished and tilted his head forward towards Leo, a worshipful light in his eyes as he watched Leo walk towards the podium.

__

"How do you feel about your brother being chosen as a champion?"

He was in total control of himself. Every smile, every inflection was designed to draw in the press's affection. He childishly related some spectacular events that had occurred to him over the last month, from winning a Quidditch game against his uncles to seeing his brother off to Hogwarts. Mentioning Harry was like unleashing a tidal wave.

__

"How do you feel about your brother being chosen as a champion?"

Leo had been told, of course, that Harry had been chosen as a champion. The news was scarcely a few hours old when a Ministry owl had brought an informing message over, and not two days old before the Minister himself stopped by for a visit.

"How do you feel about your brother being chosen as a champion?"

Leo blinked at that question, mind racing for the best answer. His pause was the greatest effect he could have had. The press stopped as well, cameramen lowering their equipment and reporters silencing their monologues. It seemed like the world was waiting for his answer.

Clearing his throat, Leo seriously eyed the group assembled before him. He knew what he wanted to say, and knew what he needed to say. "I think... that it's a very dangerous situation. The Minister has informed me of some parts of the Tournament, and I don't think Harry's prepared to meet them. But I've also been told of the binding Harry has to Beauxbatons and the Tournament itself. Since there is no way out..." He took a deep breath. "I am cheering for Harry all the way."

The reporters cooed and the cameras caught the moment. And Leo smiled winningly, self-will stifling any other expressions from showing on his face. Like anger, or bitter rage.

Over half the questions today and all the real focus had been on Harry today. As the world's savior answered the final few questions and left the stage clear for Dumbledore to make announcements as to how Harry and his friends would be situated for the rest of the year, the press cheered for Leo... and for Harry.

How do you think feel your brother being chosen as a champion? Personally, Leo thought it sucked.

*

"Wait up!" Ginny yelled at them, jogging to catch up. She would be sprinting outright, but after nearly tripping over into the mud, she'd decided against it. Up ahead, two faint figures in the fog ignored her. "Harry Potter, I said wait up!"

She was so focused on them that she nearly collided straight on with a stumbling person in the middle of the path. As it was, she only barely bumped into the person. "Oh, I'm sorry-"

The person gave out a sharp gasp and tipped over, collapsing onto the ground. Long red hair spilled out from the girl's hood. Ginny's eyes widened.

"What in the world are you doing?" a voice asked sharply.

Ginny whipped her head about to see two people emerge from the fog behind her. Her eyes narrowed and she gestured down the road. "I thought you were further up there!"

"You passed us, actually," Malfoy answered, voice still sharp. Harry, on the other hand, kneeled over beside the fallen person, gently starting an examination.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Malfoy blanched. "You think I'd really call you over when I had the opportunity to see you run off and make a fool of yourself?" He half-shrugged. "I was more than ready to see you keep running after those two strangers, but Potter here has a bleeding heart." Harry made a hushing noise.

The collapsed girl looked up, her eyes completely unfocused and her forehead sweaty as she struggled to sit up. "Beggin' yer pardon," she began huskily, voice heaving with effort, "but might I get yoo chaps ta help me get ter the 'ospital wing? I'm feeling a wee bit woozy." She swayed, and fell backwards, again slumping to the ground.

"Well, doesn't that beat all," Malfoy started in a low mutter. "It's too bad we don't know where the hospital wing is. Let's just hope the next person who walks down here does."

"Malfoy!" Ginny hissed, aghast. "We can't just leave her here. She looks sick, and it might rain again."

"I don't know who she is, you don't know who she is, therefore we have no responsibility to her." Duty done, Malfoy straightened up his robes and started away. He stopped when he realized that Harry wasn't following. "What are you doing, Potter? Going to heal her right here?"

Harry looked up, green eyes shining with the fog. "I know who she is," he announced easily. "One of the champions, an Irish girl. I can't remember her name."

The Slytherin groaned aloud. "Don't tell me," he began, sounding exasperated, "you think we should do something."

Harry stood up, and a quick flick of his wrist brought out his wand. He didn't say anything, but a minute later the two were walking away, Malfoy bickering and Harry silently levitating the girl. Ginny silently joined them, watching Harry for any signs of his previous anger. There didn't seem to be any.

Malfoy glanced at her, expression bothered "Still playing the puppy dog, Weasley?" he sneered.

She unthinkingly shot back, "It's a role you're well suited for, Malfoy."

He gave her an annoyed look and glanced at Harry. "Tell me again, Potter, why you put up with this little witch?"

"Hey!" Ginny frowned. "Don't talk like I'm not here."

Harry spared her a look, then answered, "I told her some things awhile ago that I'd rather not have anyone else find out. I don't believe that she'd tell anyone, but I didn't want to take the chance that she would back in Hogwarts."

Ginny stopped walking, stunned. "That's the only reason?" she whispered to Harry.

However, whatever voice answered Malfoy's question stayed mute for her own. Feeling significantly diminutive, Ginny followed the pair again as they came up on the Great Hall. It loomed in the fog like the remnants of an old building, the voices of other students coming back like sounds from haunting ghosts. Coming closer, the torches of the structure burned away at the fog and cleared their views for the sight of a few hundred students gathering for lunch.

An empty table near one wall was claimed as Harry levitated the unconscious champion there, settling her down with the gentlest of touches. He looked up at Malfoy.

Malfoy let out a great burst of air, and glared back. "You want me to find out where the hospital wing is, don't you?"

"You could, or you could stay here with the girl," Harry answered rationally. "I can't do both at once."

"I don't trust Weasley here with you," the Slytherin announced pointblank. "She has a funny tongue."

Harry smiled slightly, so faint that Ginny almost thought it was an illusion. It was gone after a moment when he turned to look at her. "Draco wants some company-"

"I didn't say that," the other boy cut in, disdainful. He gave Ginny a sharp look.

Ginny glared back, a sudden anger breaking out. She didn't want Harry to see, though; he was obsessed with the idea that everyone get along. "I think I'll go," she answered scornfully, eyes narrowed. "Malfoy wouldn't know how to ask anyone for anything."

That illusionary smile touched Harry's lips again, there and gone with the turn of her head.

*

Harry could here them yelling before they'd gone a dozen steps, and resignedly shook his head. There must be something between the Weasleys and the Malfoys that just couldn't be kept. A blood feud, perhaps. It wasn't any of his concern.

He glanced around to make sure that no one was watching, then floated his hand over the girl's face. Eachna, that had to be her name. His hand floated over her eyes and his own slipped shut in an automatic trance.

Her breathing was normal, and her heartbeat kept time evenly... the rest of her body seemed perfectly healthy... and there was no signs of a cold or flu, or any other suspected disease. Harry blinked his eyes open, quickly looking around to find that people had changed tables and left and entered the building. A minute or two had passed. Draco and Ginny still weren't back.

He closed his eyes again, and an anomaly caught his attention. Something floating through her bloodstream, so light it seemed invisible. He focused harder, and was able to pick up an imprint of a potion-

"Hey, Harry!"

Eyes jerking open, trance completely lost, Harry stood with a hand over her face, disoriented and unfocused. He swayed, then caught himself on the edge of the table. Blinking back dizziness, Harry looked around to see Ron and Hermione walking towards him, both smiling warily. "I thought you were still in the apartment."

Ron shook his head. "No, too boring. Plus we're hungry, and there's nothing in there but that bunch of sandwiches--you haven't eaten any, have you? Hermione took one, and she's been feeling ill-"

"I'm not sick, Ron," the witch cut in, offended. She rolled her eyes and shared a look with Harry. "He's over-exaggerating. The only thing is that it's too wet out there." She shuddered. "I feel like I'm never going to be dry again."

He didn't miss the quick concern in her eyes, but deliberately ignored it. "Sit down, and take off your coats," Harry suggested neutrally. "The house-elves will dry them for you."

"Who's this?" Ron finally asked. His eyes had been watching the girl on the table, faintly bemused. "Did she just walk by and fall asleep?"

Hermione slipped out of the coat and set it down, then leaned over the table to examine the girl. Her face, interestingly enough, paled, and she hurriedly checked the girl's pulse rate. Eyes wide, Hermione stared up at Harry. "Do you know what happened to her?" Puzzled by her turn of emotions, Harry shook his head, quickly relating how Ginny had bumped into the girl, resulting in her collapse. Hermione looked severe. "I think she's been poisoned, Harry."

"What?" Ron's mouth dropped open.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Why do you think that?"

"The signs are all there." Hermione touched the girl's skin, and then lifted the lid off one eye. The skin was cool, colorless, and there was a blood clot at the top of one eye. "Her heartbeat, it's very strange. It picks up, and then it goes back to normal. Feel. And look here at her wrist--the blood there looks a little light, like its thinned out." She continued, listing off a half-dozen signs that Harry missed, all pointing to poison.

"And there's no way she could just be fevered?"

Hermione bit her lip, then shook her head. "No, she'd at least be conscious, or else sleeping. But here, she's been put to sleep." She looked around in sudden realization. "Where's Ginny?"

"She went to find the hospital wing," Harry answered absently, staring down at the unconscious champion.

"Maybe you should check in, too," Ron put in, looking at Hermione in concern. "You're beginning to look sick again."

A hand went to her stomach. "I'm beginning to _feel_ sick again."

Harry looked up, ready to ask her a question, when he paused and really looked at her. Her skin was becoming pasty white, losing its color, and she was beginning to sweat hard. "What exactly," he started slowly, watching as she deteriorated before his eyes, "did you eat again, Hermione?"

Ron looked at him and answered for her. "Some sandwiches, right Hermione? There's still a few left in the apartment."

"Where'd they come from?"

Hermione leaned down on the table, resting her head against it, and her eyes were a little cloudy. "A house-elf gave them to me, said they were for you." She blinked, and gazed up at Harry wonderingly. "Are you mad? I only ate a few, and only because I was really hungry."

He shook his head, beginning to worry. "No, but do you know who they were from, Hermione?" She shook her head and closed her eyes. Harry shook her shoulder, trying to get her to wake up. "Hermione? Hermione!"

Ron made a sound, and was looking between the witch and the champion, understanding dawning in his eyes. "She's like that girl--she's been poisoned, too!"

"Ginny better be hurrying," Harry murmured, staring through the crowd for a sign of the witch. "We need to get Hermione to the hospital wing as soon as possible."

*

If Sirius was certain about one thing, it was that he wasn't going to let his godson rot in some foreign school and in some lethal tournament. But even after ransacking the Ministry's records for anything at all on magical bindings and leaving a vaguely-threatening note for the Minister, he found himself no further along than when he started.

Remus was undeniably amused. The werewolf watched, a permanent smirk on his face, as his best friend frantically flipped through hundreds of documents, eyes receiving no time to actually read whatever there was written down before Sirius moved on. He chuckled into his cup of tea, and Sirius's hounded eyes glared up at him.

"What?" Sirius bit out. "Something funny about this whole situation?"

"Oh no, not at all," Remus amended peacefully, drinking his tea. He waited until Sirius was again immersed in the documents, then casually added, "I just wonder, sometimes, what you think you're doing."

Those eyes glared back up at him, doubly-bright in anger, and phasing him not at all. "What I'm doing? Let's think a minute, why don't we? I'm _trying to save my godson's life!_"

"Naturally," Remus replied, still calm as ever, "but you're going about it the wrong way." When Sirius sputtered indignantly, Remus gave him a moment to collect himself, then continued. "I don't think you even realize what's written down in all those papers of yours. There could have been a solution, and you likely skipped over it already."

"If you're not going to help me," Sirius started through clenched teeth, "then get out of here and leave me in peace."

Shrugging, Remus stood up. "Have it your way. I'll just go out and... I don't know, solve this one myself." He muttered in a purposefully loud voice, "That's what I always do, isn't it? Solve your messes for you. And never a hint of thanks, right?" He actually made it out of the room when Sirius groaned loudly and called for him to come back.

Remus arrogantly stuck his head back in the room, expression looking like he really couldn't be bothered. "What is it?"

Sirius sighed, and with a defeated motion, gestured for Remus to return to the table. The werewolf did so, triumphantly. "Go ahead," the Auror began dumbly, "go ahead a tell me exactly what I'm doing wrong."

"Not so much as what you're doing wrong," Remus corrected gently, willing now to spare his friend some anguish, "just what you're doing the hard way. For an Auror, you seem to forget all about the benefits of magic quicker than the rest of us."

Remus pulled out his wand and flicked it towards the unseemly stacks of papers, ordering them to organize themselves by date. "Why don't we look for something that's similar to what's happening here? You work with," he split the pile in half, deliberately giving Sirius the older half, "that side, and I'll go through this. Look for magical bindings and their length, particularly when its associated with a third object, like the Goblet of Fire."

Sirius grumbled under his breath, but did as told, and for the next hour the time passed in silence. Remus merely skimmed through his readings, setting a charm to alert his eyes if his vision touched on anything he was looking for, but he doubted Sirius would have the wits right now to do the same. Whenever Sirius got moody or grouchy, he'd revert back to simply bludgeoning his way through problems, which made for a fine Auror and a horrible researcher.

Despite this, of course, Sirius was the first one to have any success. Giving a cry of delight, the Auror pulled from his stack a thin parchment, and he viciously shoved the paper at Remus's nose. "Take a look at that," Sirius crowed triumphantly, practically rubbing the paper in his best friend's face. "Exactly what I'm looking for."

With an exasperated shake of his head, Remus yanked the paper from Sirius's slack hands and skimmed through it. It was an analysis on the Goblet done almost a hundred years ago, dealing with its compulsions and strengths. There, in the middle of the paper, was the answer to all the problems.

"A month?" Remus blinked his eyes.

Sirius laughed. "A month! The bindings are only active during the first month. During that time, those sworn are punished if they try to leave, and the punishment gets worse with every time. But after that, the compulsion's gone. Harry only has to stick it out a few more days, then he can come home."

The timing, Remus read, was based on the assumption that after the first month, the sworn witch or wizard would become accustomed to the task, and no longer would be fighting to leave. Unfortunately, it didn't hold sway over frenetic godfathers who really wouldn't listen to reason when it came to their godsons.

Their noise drew the attention of Leo, who peered down the stairs curiously. His hair was still tousled from his long nap, and the boy smiled sweetly at his two adoptive uncles. "Morning," he called down, following his voice to the bottom floor.

Sirius grinned excitedly at the boy, swooping over to grab him up in a hug. "Guess what's going to happen," he said, voice tinged with wild energy. When Leo shook his head wonderingly, Sirius announced Harry's upcoming homecoming. He was so distracted, he didn't notice the slightest darkening of expression on the boy's face. He was too busy going on about how much better it would be to have Harry home-

Remus, however, watched with a curious eye. "Any letters from Harry?" he asked on whim.

Leo resolutely shook his head, looking a little angry. "No," the boy bit out, "nothing from him."

Sirius ruffled the boy's hair, setting him back down on the ground. "No worries. In a few days, Harry will be back and he won't need to write letter. We'll be able to ask him to his face what his problem is, and then we'll ground him forever."

*

The hospital wing as full to the brimming, with makeshift beds crowding every possible space. Ron and Ginny stood gaping at the crowd of students filling the area, and Harry quickly claimed two empty beds to drop the two unconscious witches down on. He almost had to shove off a few students who also wanted the beds for themselves, and then he had to glare down as someone else tried to shove Hermione off.

"Something going around?" Draco asked lightly, looking across the students. His posture kept the sick ones from bumping into him. Something about it just screamed aristocracy.

"Let's hope not," Ron answered darkly, his eyes haunted and trailing Hermione's every movement. Draco gave him a surprised look, but Ron didn't even notice.

Ginny settled at the foot of Hermione's bed, gazing across the room. "Who are all these people?" Harry knew at once, knew as soon as he walked into the room, and the knowledge was burning into his mind. He ignored the question, though, focusing more on making sure Hermione was comfortable.

"Forget that," said Draco, "and find out why the nurse isn't here helping them out."

Hermione's eyes fluttered open, saving Harry from having to give the answer to that question. Luckily, Draco had been directing it to Ginny, and so there was no forceful compulsion to give out the truth.

She leaned up, propping herself up on her elbows, and stared around in a daze. "Where are we?"

"Hermione!" Ron nearly crushed her. "I thought you were-"

"Why don't we get back to the apartment," Harry broke in evenly, making sure to cut Ron off. The other students were beginning to watch them resentfully, and Harry knew why. They were glaring at him, and he didn't want to be there much longer. The thought sparked a flicker of pain through his head, and he masked it by pretending to put a lot of effort into helping Hermione stand up.

"How are you feeling?" Ron asked.

She touched her forehead, and looked up at him. "I... I feel perfectly fine." Hermione swallowed, and glanced over at Harry. "What happened?"

"You collapsed," answered Ron, drawing her face back to him. He helped her stand up, though she looked like she didn't need any assistance. He was looking at her in an almost desperate fashion. "You were fine, and then you just collapsed." Draco gave the pair a speculative look, and then grinned evilly when Ginny glared at him.

"What do we do about the other girl?" Ginny asked as they reached the door, glancing back at the unconscious Irish teenager. She shot the Slytherin an annoyed look.

"Let's just leave her there," answered Harry, feeling the stares of the other students on his back. None of them were friendly. "The nurse is probably eating lunch, and when she comes back, she'll be able to take care of things." His tongue revolted against the lie, but he didn't dare stay any longer. The fog outside was as thick as ever.

Above the door to the apartment, a huge falcon rested. Talons clutching the doorway like claws, it peered down on them haughtily, and as soon as Harry came within reach, it stuck a sharp foot out. The parchment and accompanying vial dangled uncertainly, and as soon as both were taken off the bird took off again.

"What in the world?" Hermione ducked her head and stared off as the shape of the bird became blurred, then faded away altogether. She glanced at Harry. "Who's it from?"

"Why would someone send a falcon?" Ginny added, peering curiously at the packages in Harry's hands.

His hands shook slightly, a bare tremor, and he hastily lowered them so no one else could see. Absently, he answered Ginny's question, voice trailing as he went inside. "Owls fly too slow for some people, so they use other birds. A falcon could chase an owl across the world without tiring under the correct spells, and they're harder to track." He threw his coat down, ignoring its watery drip, and sat down.

"Don't just stare at it, Potter," Draco cut in, following his example and sitting down. "Who's it from?"

Harry looked up blankly, then reluctantly answered, "It's from Professor Snape."

Not noticing the quick glance Harry shot to the three others in the room, Draco curiously went on, "Snape? What reason does Snape have, sending you things."

"I asked him to," Harry admitted slowly, unable to evade the question.

Draco started, then at once remembered the other three in the room. Hermione, eyes wide, asked, "Why?" and her voice was complete disbelief, though Harry didn't know whether that was because of the fact that someone would _want_ anything from Snape, or that Snape was willing to give something away.

Harry shut his mouth determinedly, folding the paper in his hands.

Hermione glanced between him and Draco, then frowned. "What's going on?" she demanded to know. "Why do you only answer Malfoy's questions, and no one else's?"

"Yea, I've noticed that," agreed Ginny. "I thought it was just me."

Harry glanced at them unconcernedly and went about unfolding his letter. It was a quick message, with words on what the potion was and a warning that the solution was only temporary: he could recover his free will for the space of five days, after which the school's binding would again return. The vial contained enough for a single swallow.

Draco's eyes burned with the need for answers, but his discreet glances towards the rest of the room offered proof enough that Harry's respite would last until the others were gone. The Slytherin was too jealous of his knowledge to willingly share with anyone else, and he knew that asking any question now would only result in Harry spilling that knowledge to everyone.

Crumpling the note in his fist, Harry popped the stopper off with his thumb and downed the liquid with a swift movement that ignored Hermione's outcry. The empty vial and scrap parchment slipped into a pocket, and Harry stood. Testing, he thought of leaving Beauxbatons, of returning home. No pain came. For a moment, Harry smiled softly at nothing, reveling in his freedom, and then a timer started going off in his head.

Two days... It was time to get moving.

"Someone's poisoned the champions," Harry began without preamble, walking to his rooms. Like zombies, the others followed.

"What do you mean?" Ron demanded to know, stepping up to Harry's shoulder.

In his room, Harry paused a moment to spare the area a searching glance, and then he started towards his chest in the corner, pulling from it a spare cloak. He looked over at the group crowding his doorway. "While we were in the hospital wing, I could see it on all their faces. They've the same symptoms that the girl had, that Hermione has."

"Me?" Hermione blinked. "I've been poisoned."

Cloak thrown over his shoulder, Harry faced the room stonily. "I... I know the imprint of the poison," he admitted slowly, vaguely, "but I'll need to visit an apothecary to find the ingredients for an antidote, and I'll need a place to work."

"Apothecary?" Ginny blinked.

Harry looked at Draco steadily. "Draco, could you contact your father and arrange a way for us to return to London?"

"Perhaps for us," Draco replied darkly, "but I doubt my mother would appreciate being forced to play the host for them." His jerked thumb pointed out the three Gryffindors.

"We're going to go with you," declared Hermione. "That, or you're not going at all."

Draco stared at Harry a moment longer, reading some message in the green lights, and then he stiffly turned around and walked from the hall. A door slammed at the front of the house. With it, Harry sighed in relief, shoulders sagging. A way to get out of Beauxbatons.

He snapped at the others to make some preparations for a five-day stay, then collapsed to his bed, thoughtfully considering where the five of them were gong to be staying while he concocted an antidote potion. It would have to be some place with relative solitude, crossing out the possibilities of simply renting a room in the Leaky Cauldron. Then he remembered what Draco had said ("playing host") and wondered, and then waited until daylight fell and the Slytherin returned with a sour expression but instructions for leaving the school.

Late at night, no one saw the five students streak out through the campus, sneaking out to the ends of the property and on to the forest grounds, nor did any one see the two masked figures waiting with grim patience to meet them. One of the girls screamed at the sight of the Death Eaters, but the noise was cut short as, suddenly, the group disappeared.

*

The door to the shop opened, ringing the small chime. Alerted, Michael Jiggers looked up from his restocking of the bundle of fangs hanging directly over the front desk. The customer who walked in had him raising an eyebrow, but he never refused anyone.

"Can I help you, sir?" he asked politely. The restocking went on without him, fangs magically floating up and hanging themselves, but letting it go on like that was risky business. He might forget for a moment about the supplies, and turn to slice his face open.

The customer shook his head, browsing through shelves. When he brought out his final selection to the front desk, Jiggers raised both eyebrows, and stared at the customer suspiciously as he totaled up the bill. "Those are strong ingredients," he cautioned, feeling the need to say _something_ of warning. Brother or not.

"I know," came the short reply, discouraging of further inquiries. Taking the hint, Jiggers passed the ingredients over and accepted the money mutely.

As the boy turned to go, Jiggers suddenly remembered something he'd read in the papers. "Eh, boy," he called out. The teenager paused in the act of turning out the door. "Aren't you supposed to be at that school? I thought I heard Dumbledore saying something bout a binding-"

"Is that old fool rambling off again?"

The teenager turned and looked up, and Jiggers followed his gaze to see (with no little shock) Lucius Malfoy standing in the doorway. The wizard's eyes were narrowed in deliberation, an expression on his face that Jiggers' hadn't seen since before the peace. Touching the teenager's shoulder, Malfoy murmured, "Come, Harry. Mr. Borgin has some things that might interest you."

*

The explosion at the Black Manor was something worth legend-status, but the unfortunate Auror stuck with the job didn't think so. Facing down an enraged Sirius Black, being forced to tell him that his godson was gone, and then having to stay and witness the man's reaction was a list of events better suited for someone like a dragon trainer, who willingly faced down such dangerous situations on a daily basis.

Leo's reaction was the most heart-breaking. He hardly reacted at all, going into semi-shock, and then asking over and over again if Harry was going to be all right. Minister Fudge, of course, had nothing to say to this when he showed up on the scene, giving the miserable Auror a chance at escape, but even if he did, Leo wasn't really listening.

He was thinking about a pile of letter stacked hidden in his bedroom, unanswered and unopened.

Elsewhere, Auror Stan Collins knocked on the gate to the Malfoy Manor with enviably calm. After the fuss Mrs. Weasley had gone through, he was rather hoping for. Malfoys' cool attitudes. Anything was better than what he'd heard happened when Sirius had found out.

A bored-looking house-elf appeared with a pop. "Yes?"

"I'd like to speak with Narcissa or Lucius Malfoy, please," Collins answered amiably, "on matters that concern their son, Draco."

"One moment." The elf disappeared. It was a short interval before it came back, expression still bored. "She will see you." The elf laid a hand through the gate, touching Collins's arm, and both of them vanished from the gate.

He reoriented himself in what had to be the welcoming room of the manor. Large and spacious, the room was sumptuously decorated. Fine art decorated the walls, with portraits watching him coolly. Metals creaked as suits of armor shifted to likewise stare at him. The furniture was all dark wood, cherry oak he imagined, and chiseled so that the pieces almost glowed in contact with the light from the gemmed chandeliers.

It was all designed to create a massive illusion of wealth--or, Collins corrected himself as he took a seat on a deep-back chair, not illusion. The Malfoy's estate was estimated to be one of the wealthiest on the planet.

Footsteps echoed on hardwood floor, and then were silenced when the person walked onto the lush carpet of the welcoming hall. Collins stood and bent his neck to greet Narcissa Malfoy.

"Mrs. Malfoy-"

"Please, I have a busy schedule this morning," she interrupted coolly, taking a seat opposite from him. She stared disdainfully at his offered hand, and he slowly lowered it. "Tell me what it is you want, and don't say this is about one of those annoying Ministry raids."

"I'm afraid my news is a little more personal."

Fine glasses appeared, and the lady picked up one, sipping from it. He got the feeling that he was being judged, not only by her but also by her very house. The walls were intimidating. A drink was very welcome. "That's right," she rejoined, "you did say this was about my son. Has Draco done something to warrant the attention of the Ministry? I'd hate to think that my taxes and funds were being needlessly wasted on tattling to mothers about pranking schoolboys."

The mocking tone in her voice did nothing to upset him. His boss had already told him about the Malfoys, and he'd seen enough interactions to know that the family was spiteful enough to bait Dumbledore. "It's something worse than a simple prank, ma'am. Your son, along with four other students, have vanished from the French school's campus, where they are supposed to be until the end of the year."

He noted how she went completely still, and wondered for a dry moment why she was acting so suspicious. And then his mind kicked in: of course she was acting "suspicious." She'd just been informed that her only child was missing. Acting otherwise would have been the real suspicious course.

"I see..." She placed the cup down, and it disappeared for a moment, coming back full again. Eyes focused on something beyond him, the mother absently asked how long her son had been missing.

Collins tipped his head forward, coughing unpleasantly. "Well, that's the problem. You see, that group of students was given free will to do as they pleased. They stopped showing up to dinners about two days ago, but we know for sure they've been officially gone since last evening when Aurors found their apartments empty."

"What were Aurors doing searching my son's personal room?" the witch hissed out. She sounded more upset about that bit of new than her son's actual disappearance.

He thought over the answer for a moment, then decided to just tell her. "Someone reported yesterday that they'd seen someone looking very much like Harry Potter at a store in Diagon Alley. When Potter and his friends didn't show up at mealtime, the Aurors at Beauxbatons decided to go straight to their apartments. No one answered, so they forced their way in. The search was only for persons, not for items."

"So you've been searching for them since last night?" Narcissa repeated, her voice still distracted and eyes focused on something else. "And since that time, you've not had any luck? Is that why you've come to inform me?" Her eyes suddenly zipped to his face, stare sharp and cutting. "My son has been missing for two days, and I'm only just now told? I could have been looking for him, but instead you allowed me to keep the illusion that he was safe at school."

She stood abruptly, movements angry. "How did this happen? How did my son get taken from there?"

"Please, miss, calm down," Collins tried to placate her. "We don't know for sure that he was taken. After all, there were no signs of a struggle."

"Then tell me how much you know." Her eyes darkened. "Quick, man! My son is out there!" She listened to the scarce details without blinking, then frowned. "Is that it? The best that the Ministry can come up with?"

"It has only been a day-"

"It has _been_ a day," Narcissa repeated mockingly, "and still this is all you have to show for it." She snapped her fingers and the house-elf appeared. "I will be making a personal complaint to the Minister about this inefficiency. Until then, I want you to find my son."

Before he could say anything else, the elf touched his arm and he found himself back to the outside world, barred from the manor by cold gates and harsh magic. Mrs. Weasley had nearly physically strangled him when she found out about her two missing children, Mrs. Malfoy had threatened his livelihood, but Mrs. Granger was only a muggle and there was really nothing she could do. Even so, apparating to her house sounded intimidating enough that Collins was ready enough to just return to the tracking down of those five missing teenagers.

*

Narcissa Malfoy watched with cold eyes as the Auror waited outside the gate a moment longer, then apparated away. She stepped back from the window, the drapes closing in her absence, and started down the hall again. A few stairways lower, she entered into the chilled air of the Malfoy dungeons, torches lighting her way with a sick yellow light.

There was noise coming from up ahead, and she slowed down, walking soft enough that her feet didn't echo on the stone floor. The potions room was being used, but now there was only one person still awake. The others had likely gone to bed, shown to separate quarters by apathetic house-elves.

She pushed the door opened slowly, pausing in the doorway to watch the teenager at work. His hair was a mess, but then again, it had always been that way. His face was a mask of concentration, more mature than she'd guess it'd be in the five years since she last saw him. His movements, though, fulfilled the promise of his childhood: exact and purposeful, he moved with unconscious grace in whatever he did. Draco had said he was an absolute terror on the Quidditch field.

Jars clattered as he moved around, selecting some with seeming randomness, but she knew he was in complete control of himself. There was a quality of restraint about him that she'd never guess he'd grow up having. As a child, Harry had been so free and happy, she would have laughed if anyone presented her with a prophecy of his future coolness.

It was all that blasted godfather's fault. Draco had written about the fight, and Narcissa had been more upset about it than Lucius--the pair of them had driven the house-elves frantic with fear that night.

A popping noise drew her interest, and she took a step into the room to see him leaning against a wall, expression exhausted. He'd been at it for nearly a whole day, working from memory of an "imprint" of the poison. If it had been anyone else, Narcissa would never believe that a memory could be so clear and perfect, but Harry always remembered everything. She could remember teaching him the first of the Dark Arts, remember being smitten with how quickly he remembered every lesson.

Seeing the potion ingredients was a reminder to itself: Harry had refused to accept their potion supplies, insisting that he buy his own. She'd taught him that, to respect other's property and to never accept charity in any form. She'd taught him to be proud. It showed in his very stance, lessons remembered subconsciously.

Five years ago, he'd been a second son, almost to the point where Lucius agreed to her plans of stealing him away from those dratted Potters and keeping him with them at all times. She wondered what relationship they had now. Harry, after all, had never seen her or Lucius without their masks on.

But he had recognized her voice. Perhaps there was hope left, like her husband believed.

She must have made a sound. Harry's eyes flew open, and his expression turned guarded. That, he'd learned from the past five years, and she wished she could take those lessons away from him. When he fixed his eyes on her, he relaxed slightly, tilting his head forward in acknowledgement.

"The Ministry sent an Auror," Narcissa informed him, voice tinted with slight endearment. "They've just noticed last night that you're not there."

Harry snorted in shared amusement. "It's about time. Even I thought that they'd catch on by morning. They're blinder than I realized."

Narcissa stepped fully into the room, walking over to his shelves of concoctions. The mastery of it all was amazing, especially when realized with the fact that he'd only been in the room for a day. She peered at the latest result, eyes analyzing a jar of dark gray liquid that boiled without flames. "How is the antidote coming?"

"I think it's almost done." He couldn't hide the sudden stiffness in his voice as she entered his personal space, as she examined his personal work, but his forceful relaxation sparked hints that he could accept her with only a little work. "I'm going to give some to Hermione in the morning. If it doesn't heal her, at least I know it won't hurt her."

Narcissa nodded, and stepped away, noting how he let out a breath of strained air once she was a certain distance away. His personal limits, then. When he was younger, he used to frighten the newer Death Eaters by curiously climbing over them, asking endless questions until formality was erased. Now, he was uncomfortable if someone was within three steps of him. She wondered sadly how he reacted at Hogwarts for the first time, being thrust into the middle of a crowded and noisy room. When she'd gone there, she hated it, but for a different reason. The thought of being in the middle of so many stinking bodies had been nauseating.

"You should be getting some rest, Harry." It was the first time she said his name aloud, and a visible stiffness that she hadn't noticed before eased off of him. Mentally, she cursed Sirius Black again with the pain curse, promising to herself that the Auror would truly suffer under it when the time came.

Harry would probably be the one to do it, then.

The teenager shrugged, then flushed as if suddenly remembering his manners. He looked up at her with a guileless expression, reminiscent of the total trust he once had with her. He was reaching back towards that relationship tentatively, then. "If you think it best."

During the years, she had speculated with her husband the type of life Harry was living. Often, they ended up with the wasting conclusion that the young boy was being brainwashed by the Ministry, placing all his naïve trust in his Auror godfather, and completely erasing the memory of his childhood. The reality wasn't so irrevocable, but she felt torn between cheer and worry at his detachment to any living soul save his brother. Had Draco become so, Narcissa would never forgive herself.

"Come," she touched him on the shoulder as he walked her way, "I've already prepared your room for you. You can sleep undisturbed."

The walk back to the upper levels of the mansion was silent, but not strained. He was trying to adjust again, to return to his previous amiability with them, and she was letting that bond nourish itself. Her family had been closest to Harry before, and they would be again.

"I don't know why you brought those Gryffindors here," she started without warning as they walked towards his room. The eyes of the portraits watched him with deep consideration, privy to all of the Malfoy's plans and knowing that this boy was key in the larger ones. "The ghosts refuse to come out until they're gone."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Harry asked, laughter in his voice.

She swallowed back a smile and touched his shoulder again fondly. It felt like a long-lost son had been returned to the family, injured by the world but ready to recover.

*

When Hermione woke up on the last morning, with one day left in the month, she was halfway to the potions laboratory before she realized where she was going. It was a very bad thing. Mrs. Malfoy had told the teenagers on the first night they arrived that the manor didn't like strangers, and was particularly averse to Gryffindors. She left them with a warning to hold back from exploring the manor, as it would probably take great pleasure in doing as it pleased with them.

She shivered, feeling the eyes of the living building watching her. "I'm only going to the potions lab," she announced aloud, suspecting that the wood was listening and judging her by it. "I'm going to see if Harry's finished with the antidote." She took a few hesitating steps, and then the malevolent sensation gradually faded. Sighing with relief, the witch hurried to reach her destination.

Hermione never thought in her wildest imaginations that she would one day stroll along the Malfoy Manor, but then again her wildest imaginations weren't much centered on strolling through her rivals' houses. At Hogwarts, there had been talk of the Malfoy fortune, which she usually dismissed as exaggeration and wishful thinking. Now, evidence before her, she couldn't dismiss the proof so easily. Everything was designed to show off the family's affluent presence. Everything was designed to inspire awe and envy.

She skipped through the house quickly, eager to get away from the pressing wealth. The house's dungeons, at least, were only standard, a near duplicate of Hogwarts' own. 

Entering the room, Hermione was disappointed to find it absolutely empty. Shivering in the cold, she looked around desolately. Only the day before, the poison had attacked her again, and she couldn't remember anything beyond lunch. The whole thing was beginning to get infuriating.

Sighing, she walked around the room, resigned to staying in there until someone else came. 

There were potion ingredients in this room that Hermione had never heard about before, which meant that they were completely illegal. Others were under Ministry restriction, Ministry monopoly, which made no sense whatsoever: if that was true, then it could be assumed that the Ministry had a hand in the poisoning. But why would the government want to poison their students, and why would other governments allow it? And nothing easy or trite, but potentially fatal poisoning?

Her head went tipsy at that thought, still as dazed as she had been when Harry had first announced it. He was in the process of explaining to Draco how he was going to make an inverse poison, an antidote, and had casually mentioned that the poison was beginning to look serious. The look Ron had given her wasn't reassuring in the least.

Shaking her head, Hermione absently went about naming the different ingredients, mindlessly organizing them by label. How could Harry work in such a messy area?

A long interval later, Hermione walked listlessly up from the dungeons, beginning to feel light-headed. It was a sign that the poison was mounting up an attack again, and she began to look for a place where she could safely faint. Movement out of the corner of her eyes caught her attention, and she made her way towards it.

She ended up in the dining room. The casual treasures splayed along the room, from sheen crystal glass to expansive diamond chandeliers, made her nauseous. The person in the room who'd been walking around looked up, expression blank as normal. "Harry," she breathed, "is that antidote ready?"

He looked a little surprised, but when she unsteadily tipped into a chair, gracelessly slapping her arms against the wood, he understood immediately. She caught a look on his face as he concentrated, and then a glass of grayish liquid flew to his outstretched hand. "Here," he handed it to her, "I'm sure this will work."

It didn't smell very good, and tasted worse, but she closed her nose and downed the whole of it, keeping her gagging reflexes from kicking in. Harry looked at her with something approaching sympathy, but when Hermione swallowed it all and blinked back the tears, that expression was gone.

"How do you feel?" asked Harry. "It should work right away."

"I don't feel anything," Hermione began bitterly, then straightened up. "In fact, I feel fine. It's all gone."

"That was my intention," he answered dryly, going back to the papers before him.

Hermione stood up, thrilled with the speed of it all. She twirled once and swallowed, feeling all traces of illness completely erased from her body. "That's amazing, Harry. I don't know what to make of it."

He waved, focused more on the papers, and she curiously glanced over to see that he was reading the Daily Prophet. She blinked when she realized that one of the front pictures was none other than herself.

"So it works?"

Harry's question snapped her back, and she nodded with a bright smile. "Perfectly."

"Good." His tone was dark. "I have enough made for all the champions at Beauxbatons. If I come with the antidote, they'll forget their ideas about me poisoning them in the first place."

"What?" Hermione squawked, sitting down again. "What's that about you poisoning them?"

Harry looked up from the newspaper and gestured with a finger to the front headlines. The bold words proclaimed woes of missing students and sickening champions, and one avid column pointed the blame to Harry. Unbelieving, Hermione looked up to his arresting green eyes. "I wouldn't believe they'd print that rubbish. How can you be at blame?"

"I'm the only one who'd gain from it," Harry pointed out with blank-faced seriousness. "The end of the month is approaching, and the first task with it. If I'm healthy while everyone else is ill, then I'll win by forfeit or else I'll have an unfair advantage over everyone else."

"That's just silly. For one, it's too obvious. Even an idiot would trace the trail to you, and so that means that you're likely being framed for it. Another thing is that you didn't have access to the rest of the champions. The only time you were with them was that one dinner, and then you were still too busy recovering from shock to do anything."

Harry stared at her for a moment, then shockingly broke out with a gentle smile. "Remind me never to go out against you, Hermione," he murmured, eyes floating back to the paper. "Your wits are sharper than mine."

She flushed with the compliment, feeling unnaturally warm. "I'm not as perfect as you'd make me out to me."

He snorted with amusement, looking up at her. "According to Ginny, there is no such thing as being perfect."

"Sounds like she stole her words from me," Hermione answered jokingly, hoping to keep up the light mood. "I'm beginning to rub off on her. Half of what she says now, I said first."

Harry examined her with some unknown interest, eyes darkening a shade. "Is that so? Perhaps you'd like to know first what she said before you claim the credit of it." Something in his voice served as warning. Hermione's smile faded.

"Why? What did she say?"

He shook his head, head tilting back to the paper. The jocular mood faded then, gone as quickly as it came. The conversation lagged, with Hermione struggling to keep some noise up and Harry finally rising, excusing himself to check again on the antidote. Hermione was left alone, and she reached over to pick up his abandoned copy of the newspaper.

The articles were biting, and the harshness stuck out oddly to her as she read. Biases became blatantly obviously until Hermione finally threw it away with disgust. She leaned on to her elbows, left with nothing else but the feeling of the manor turning its attentions on her once again.

*

"It works."

Draco turned and barely managed to catch a stopped vial tossed his way. The liquid inside bubbled lazily, popping gray vapors. He weighed it in one hand and looked up. "You've tried it?"

Harry nodded, walking to where the large cauldron of the stuff sat waiting to be processed. "Hermione was cured almost instantly. I added some things to speed up the process, but I didn't expect the antidote to be so fast." He paused to look up at Draco. "When we get back to Beauxbatons, the other champions will be cured fast enough to participate in whatever task there's prepared."

"What a horrible notion." Draco slipped the vial into his pocket and gave Harry a blank look. "Why on earth would you want to do something like that? Couldn't you simply wait until the task was finished, then slipped the antidote into their suppers?"

"Only if I wanted to get caught."

Footsteps echoed down the stone slabs, and both boys looked up as Lucius Malfoy entered. Harry nodded, face tightening slightly, then went back to his occupation of sealing the antidote in thick, unbreakable earthware. The jar looked heavy to lift, but appearances were deceiving. Weightless charms kept the load light.

"It's finished, then?"

"Yes, and tested," Draco answered, back straightening up. He motioned. "We only need to bind the potion up, and it'll sit until we return to the school."

Finished, Harry wiped his forehead and looked over at Lucius respectfully. "Thank you for letting us stay here. I don't think we could've found another like it."

Shrugging, the older wizard dismissed the matter and brought up a new one. "Your alibis have been founded. Wizards in London are already seeing lookalikes getting pulled about by masked wizards, and in two days you'll have escaped your kidnappers to Diagon Alley, where the Ministry will likely question you and then send you back to Beauxbatons."

Harry smiled faintly. "I hope it was easy enough to arrange."

Draco glanced over at him, a mortified expression on his face. "Easy? I suspect you arranged it all in the last few minutes, right Father?"

Lucius's expression turned amused. "You expect much out of me, Draco."

The son haughtily raised a shoulder. "I've seen enough to show the proof."

Harry's smile deepened, and he leaned against the heavy earthware to watch the exchange as father and son shot back barbed wits between the two of them, obvious affection hidden in repartee. When Draco drew him into the fray, Harry was only too willing to exchange comebacks, feeling like the game was nothing more than quick practice for the reality outside.

Finally, Harry included an insult that questioned the biological roots of the present Minister, and Lucius stopped with a pleased look on his face. Draco snorted, eyes sharply narrowed with satisfaction. "You'll do," the teenager complimented.

Quick, Harry said, "I wasn't aware I was under inspection."

"You passed anyway." Draco tilted his head towards Lucius. "Father." Lucius's answering smirk was cryptic as he shared a look with his son, and the wizard left without anything more.

*

There was definitely something strange about this house, Ron decided as he walked along. He barely remembered some warning Narcissa Malfoy had given them, but honestly, when he first arrived at the manor, listening to a Malfoy wasn't a top priority.

Digging through the house was.

However, he'd been walking for the longest of times already without seeing anyone, and the hallway was looking dizzyingly familiar. There was no way he could be walking in circles; the walls ran straight, and seemed to go on straight forever.

A popping noise drew his attention, but as usual, the house-elf had disappeared by the time Ron turned to look. He grimaced. Those little creatures had been spying on him since he first left his room. They'd leave food and drink, but that didn't change the fact that he was being spied on. Malfoy had probably set them on his, making the elflings follow Ron to make sure he didn't find the family's cache of Dark Arts.

Frowning with determination, Ron resolutely continued walking, ready to go on until something happened. Sitting in the potions lab was boring as anything, and sitting in his designated quarters would drive him insane.

The only sound was of his footsteps along the carpeted floors, muffled but echoing the empty halls like dull drums. 

Finally, after walking for what seemed like hours, a doorway appeared in the long hallway's empty walls. It was the only difference. Looking around, Ron shrugged and took the chance entering it. The door opened into an empty room decorated in dungeon fashion: stone slabs for walls and floors with no windows, and the only pieces of furniture was a set of worn wood, a chair and table standing shaky on three legs.

A shallow stone basin with odd runes and symbols carved around the edge sat still on the table, though it looked heavy enough to bust those ancient legs. Ron drew closer, hypnotized by the silvery light shining from the basin and stared down at a bright, whitish silver liquid that moved ceaselessly at the bottom, cloud-like. The liquid looked like light made liquid, or wind made solid.

It was a Pensieve.

"This is what I was looking for," Ron breathed, taking a cautious seat on the chair. He leaned forward, swallowing in anticipation, and touched the wind-like material.

And found himself looking into the brightly grinning face of a young Harry Potter.

*

Ginny walked along the manor, feeling it pressing down on her. It left her feeling more annoyed than frightened. She'd been walking for the better part of an hour, and hadn't seen anyone since getting lost after leaving the room given to her for sleeping. Not even the house-elves answered her when she tried calling out for them.

It figured, she concluded darkly, that she'd be the one who the house would quietly dispose of. She was the only one really trying to do anything to help Harry. This sentient Slytherin brick of a manor probably realized that, and was doing its best to stop her, just like all the human Slytherins.

The beauty and richness of the house ceased to inspire her. After seeing nothing but wealth for so long, she was beginning to get tired of it, something she'd never believed would ever happen. At first, she was tempted to slip something into a pocket, but now she just wanted out and back to the Burrow where everything was at least cozy.

Voices trailed up the long hall she was currently stuck in, and Ginny only just stopped herself from rushing down the hall towards them. Logic kicked in: she didn't recognize the voices at all. Cautiously, Ginny continued her walking. The hall opened up into a spread of rooms, and from one room came the sounds of conversation.

The door was barely open, and Ginny couldn't resist the temptation to at least find out who was talking. Her character had grown up eavesdropping on her older brothers to find blackmail and to discover planned tricks. It was almost second nature. She peered in through the opened crack.

The room was a library, or an enormous study. Shelves of books lined the walls, and a huge desk dominated the larger part of one side. An open window let in light and fresh air, telling her that the time was nearing lunch for it to be so bright. On the side opposite the large desk was a smaller table with its assembled chairs.

Narcissa Malfoy sat at one of those chairs, back to the door, while a man stood trembling opposite her. He was a small man, short but bulging around the middle, and his hair was thinning fast. His most distinguishing feature was his face, so rat-like Ginny had to blink at seeing it.

Their conversation echoed along the empty room. A downside, Ginny decided vindictively, of having such a big house. The only problem was that Ginny could hardly follow the dialogue.

"I-I could only find traces-"

"Either talk straight, or don't talk at all," Narcissa cut in coldly, her voice as stiff as her posture. "I don't follow stutters." When the man tried to say something again, failing once more, she added, "Should I leave and call Lucius to deal with this? He isn't as kind as I am."

The man swallowed, eyes darting about watery, and then continued. "The forests--I looked there, in Albania--there were so many rumors about the Arts rising there again, he could be no other place. But there were only traces left--he's stretching himself-"

Narcissa lifted a sharp hand, stopping him mid-sentence, and she cocked her head to one side. "Is it so hard to speak in complete sentences, Wormtail? Try to follow my example."

He--Wormtail--swallowed hard, and began again, but all he did was merely repeat his sad story of hard trials in his tracking of whatever it was. Even Ginny was getting tired of it, and she wasn't too fond of sympathizing with a Malfoy. Narcissa didn't put up with it long, and whatever she murmured quietly in threat was enough to make the man quail.

The words hardly carried, but Ginny could make out the threat against his life clearly enough. She glared through the doorway, focusing so completely on the exchange going on in there that she didn't notice when a person walked loudly down the hall behind her. A moment later, and she was spun around, someone's hand on her mouth to keep her from crying out.

"Listening on others' conversations is a bad thing," a voice whispered.

Ginny jerked away, stepped back to focus on the woman before her. It wasn't someone she knew, nor anyone she recognized. The witch didn't seem concerned with Ginny's thorough inspection, as she pushed past the girl to glance inside the room. Looking in, the woman chuckled. "It looks like poor old Peter's been failing again."

"Peter?" Ginny asked against her better judgement. She leaned in close to the witch, listening in to the conversation. "I thought his name was Wormtail."

The witch looked down on her, amused. "Wormtail's a nickname, given to him by friends. What you see here is a man who's been forgotten by practically everyone except the people he wants to escape." She tapped Ginny's nose condescendingly. "You probably have no idea what I'm talking about, do you little girl?"

Ginny pulled back in umbrage. "I'm not a little girl." Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," the witch pointed out, eyes twinkling, "but I'm here on invitation. Lucius Malfoy called me down for something important. Maybe it's you? Maybe they've decided that playing get-along with the Ministry was turning drool at last, and they're ready to start the kidnapping business."

She frowned in mocking concentration. "Red hair and freckles? Why in the world would Lucius kidnap a Weasley? Your mother hasn't the spare Galleon to buy off your ransom."

"I'm not here against my will," Ginny shot back, heat rising in her cheeks, "and my family's not poor." The witch's mocking expression continued, nettling Ginny's reserve. "I'm here with Harry and the rest of them. You might have seen someone-"

"Harry?" The witch went completely still like a snake ready to strike. "Harry Potter?"

Ginny felt a tingle of something run down her spine, and in trepidation, she slowly nodded her head. "You know Harry?"

She could have been talking to air. The witch let out a deep breath, a sincere smile gracing her face. "Lucius, you darling," she whispered, startling Ginny, "you're an absolute genius." Then she spun on her heels and started down the hall.

Ginny paused helplessly, wondering what in the world she was caught in the middle of, and she ran to catch up with the woman. "Wait a second, who are you?" She got no answer, so with a roll of her eyes, Ginny added, "At least tell me what you're up to."

"Where do you think Harry is right now?" the witch asked almost frantically. They were nearly jogging through the halls, and the woman led Ginny through a maze of twists to familiar grounds.

Unsure but knowing Harry could take care of himself, Ginny reported that the boy was probably in the dungeons and then struggled to keep up as the woman picked up her pace.

The doors to the dungeons burst open in a emotion of wind, and the woman was near the end of the hall by the time Ginny even made it to the first stone slab. She started a light run, and managed to catch up as the woman entered the labs.

Draco started saying something about his father being just gone, but he quieted once he realized that her attention wasn't looking for his absent father. She fixed on Harry like an obsession, eyes going wide with something beyond what Ginny could name.

"H-Harry?" the woman whispered, slowly closing the gap between them.

A confused expression lit across Harry's features, and he shot a look at Draco--look at me, Ginny willed him, but Harry's eyes only returned to the stranger. "Yes?" he answered hesitantly. "Who are you?"

She smiled fully, relief coloring her face. "You're all grown up," she whispered, eyes tracing his face longingly. She touched her own cheek in astonishment. "You're all grown up." Smile deepening, the witch gestured to herself. "I don't suppose you'd remember me. They say you saved everyone's life at least once, so mine wouldn't be so special."

The statement's meaning was lost to Ginny, but Harry's breathing took an uneven turn. He swallowed, struggling to keep composed. "In the woods, that trial?"

The witch nodded, and crossed the gap to grab his hands. "I've waited an eternity to see you again. The Dark Lord, I gained a reputation because of you and _he_ thought I was worthy enough. But I never got the chance to even talk to you--all I heard was rumors from others, and..." She trailed off peacefully, lifting a hand to touch his cheek.

For once, Harry didn't flinch back or even react. He only stared at her with wide-eyed wildness barely contained in his eyes.

*

They left the others in the house completely bewildered by this latest turn of events. Ron stumbled in from wherever he'd been, face haunted, while Hermione began debating about various potion ingredients with Draco and Ginny watched Harry with an odd expression. Narcissa had come out, whispering some words to the woman whose name was Haley, and then nodding towards the gardens where they could walk in peace. Haley hadn't let go of his hands, clinging to him like he was an illusion, and Harry couldn't place his thoughts if his life depended on it.

It was like finding a link to your past come alive to kiss you with Fortune. He didn't know whether her presence was a blessing or curse, but as far as he could tell, she was simply existing for him in that moment. Her eyes followed him with adoration, every word accepting him without reservation. There was something addicting in her worshipful fondness that Harry was becoming hooked to. 

"Can you still transform?" she asked, reminding him that she knew of his abilities and didn't judge him by it.

He did, then, because she wanted him to. His stag form came easy, larger than she would remember but just as magnificent. That day in the woods was burned into his memory, and he relived it as she gently touched his antlers, fingers tracing a way down his forehead and following his strange scar. The love and adoration in her eyes was unconditional, and he felt burned for touching on it.

"You're still wonderful," she breathed, leaning against him lightly. He could still carry her, if Aurors attacked, carry her off to some safe place and be a real hero then, not some disappointment. When she straightened up, he transformed back, and they continued walking.

Their conversation was low-keyed but important. She told him about Crouch being reinstated in the Ministry because of their disappearance, and he told her about the pain the binding gave him, a pain few others knew about. She told him about her life after the war, of living as a fugitive and playing games with this weak Ministry, and he confessed about having an Auror as a godfather, and she forgave him and the matter was forgotten.

She asked about unimportant details, but things that showed she really cared: his birthday gifts, his favorite place in the forests, how he felt that first night in coming back and realizing that an Auror was waiting for him. He answered truthfully, knowing secrets were safe with her.

She laughed about Leo's sour antics, about Sirius's foul temper, about Remus's failed attempts at peacekeeping, and he found the humor in those situations, too. Sirius's words were turned into amusing phrases, and they both joked about the Auror's unique shade of white when he became angry.

The conversation turned serious as she talked about the Tournament, encouraging him to spill hidden doubts he had about the whole matter. That led in turn to doubts about Hogwarts, then about Leo, and then doubts in general with the world.

When night began to fall, and she recalled the fact that there was only hours left before the potion protecting his free will loss out, she reluctantly drew away with nothing but promises at future visits. She left him exhausted and emptied, mind cleared of previous secrets. She left him ready to go back to Beauxbatons.

*

"They've been found!" The shout rang through the Black House with wild exultation.

Sirius, unwillingly caught dosing on a couch, jerked awake and alert. He looked around before the echo of the statement reached his ears, then jumped to his feet. The head of an Auror grinned from the fireplace.

Remus was out in a second, the werewolf's uncanny hearing waking him from sleep in his own bedroom, and he was at the fireplace before Sirius took another step. "Found?" Remus repeated. "When? Where?"

"London," the head answered cheerfully, flushed with the success of the hunt. "Turns out those rumors about seeing those kids being dragged around were true. We've got a couple of wizards and witches in custody now, but we're getting those kids back to Beauxbatons right away."

"Right." Sirius's eyes glinted. "I'll be at the Ministry, to question the suspects."

Immediately, the Auror in the fireplace lost some enthusiasm. "Ah, that's all right, sir. We've got that matter covered-"

"Expect me in the hour. And make sure nothing else happens to my godson." Sirius willed the fire out, vanishing the head. Not an instant later, someone knocked at the door, and Minister Fudge walked in without further pause.

The Minster stopped at Sirius's still gaze. "You've heard, then?"

"I'm going to the Ministry," Sirius answered, voice too calm to be good news.

"Be rational about this, Sirius," Remus interrupted. "Let someone else handle it. You're going to bloody blow up the place, and then what'll happen?"

"Uncle Remus?" a small voice asked. Leo, dressed in his sleeping clothes, paused on the stairway. "What's going on?"

"Leonard," Fudge started before anyone else could answer, "we've found your brother. I know it's been a few days since you found out he was missing, but he's all right now and so are all his friends. News has gotten out, so we'll be having another press conference in a few days at the Ministry. If you want to come, you can."

"That's... that's wonderful." Leo's breathing quickened, but he managed a bright smile. "He's not hurt, then?"

"Not so much as a bruise."

"Then why did someone kidnap him?"

Fudge frowned and shot a look to Sirius. "We're... we're still trying to figure that out."

"Wait a minute," Leo said, "let me go get dressed."

"Such a cute kid," the Minister muttered before Leo shut the door behind him.

In his room alone, Leo fumed silently, going through his drawers and picking out a suitable attire. His rage was crystal cold: how dare Harry steal away all the attention, steal it away as soon as he left for Hogwarts? Was it his plan from the beginning? And now this fake kidnapping scheme--anyone could see that Harry would never allow anyone to kidnap him, let alone without a struggle. His brother had willingly left-

Leo paused, eyes widening. Which meant that Harry had somehow evaded those magical bindings Dumbledore had gone on so long about. His eyes turned thoughtful with anger as he finished dressing, and then he scrambled to the locked chest under his bed. The lock was a fake, meant only to provide the look of security, and he thumbed it open. Inside, so many collections of letters lay unopened from Harry.

With mechanical efficiency, Leo picked up one and ripped it in half. This whole issue was going to completely steal the spotlight from Leo, and Harry didn't deserve it. He picked up another, and then another, until the whole set lay ripped open, Harry's scrawl littering his bedroom floor.

Footsteps coming up the stairs warned him, and he shoved the torn slips back into the chest, shoving it under his bed and standing up in time to answer the knock at his door. Remus stood there, a curious expression on his face, and Leo smiled childishly at his uncle. "I've decided something," he announced, coming down the stairs. "Do you think I could go to Beauxbatons, to see for myself that Harry is all right? It'd make me feel so much better."

Sirius was gone, but Remus answered with a nod. Fudge looked ecstatic. It wasn't every day that Leo's guardians allowed him to wander along the world.

*

Claiming fatigue from their kidnapping, the five Hogwarts students hid on their apartments from the clamor outside as Ministry officials and Aurors bombarded them with questions and demands. Harry seized the moment by challenging Draco to a chess match on the board Lucius had given him, and they talked quietly about the recent turn of events. Ron couldn't stop staring at Harry for some reason, and he whispered secrets into the girls' ears that left them wide-eyed and wondering.

When night came again, each of them having been interviewed by different Aurors and giving satisfactory answers, Harry waited until everyone was asleep, and then sneaked from his bedroom but Hermione was waiting for him in the front room of the apartment.

"Where are you going?" she asked, startling him. He'd just put his cloak on, swinging the door open with a free hand, and her voice came from the darkness like a spy.

Thinking quickly, Harry shrugged. "Just for a walk."

"No you're not." She walked from the shadows, standing in the moonlight of the opened door, and her eyes watched him knowingly. "You're planning on giving the antidote to the champions, aren't you?"

There wasn't anything he could say to that, especially when they both knew it to be true. Shrugging again, Harry picked up a thick earthenware jar, and then realized that Hermione was still completely dressed. "Where are you going?"

"With you. We just got back today, and if you're walking around by yourself, you'll be asking for trouble." She stepped out of the house. "Let's try not to wake anyone else up. Ron's... Ron's completely exhausted."

Harry nodded in distracted agreement, and they started out. He led her to the hospital wing again, avoiding a patrolling Auror and making as little noise as possible. The champions were all sleeping, but some weakly opened their eyes when Harry fired up the torches again. He locked eyes with Hermione, and she pressed her lips together before stepping up to be the one who spoke.

"Excuse me," the witch started timidly, swallowing as more and more eyes opened to stare at her. "Excuse me-"

"Vat do you vant?" one voice spat from the left side of the room, where a boy slumped wearily on a bed. His eyes were pinched open. "Can't you see ve are tr'ing to sleep?"

Her hurried explanation of their presence at the dead of night bought no friendly looks from the crowd. A mention of Harry's name unleashed glares of intense dislike and blame, which Harry blandly ignored. Her motioning to the jar of antidote brought scoffs of disbelief. After five minutes of trying to talk to the group, Hermione gave up with an exasperated shake of her head.

She looked at Harry. "Why don't you try?"

"Do you think I'd do any better?" he shot back evenly, balanced steadily on the heels of his feet. He looked almost apathetic to the other champions suffering, and when Hermione asked again, he reluctantly gave in. 

His address to the room was more cutthroat: with a few words, he announced that he'd made their antidote, and that he didn't care at all whether they had any. He planned on leaving the jar here until morning, which would be the last day of the month, and whoever wanted to take some could. Harry considered it his duty to at least give them the means to their own cure, and nothing more. Ending on a sharp note that hung in the air for a few moments, Harry turned around and gave Hermione a untroubled shrug, then started back to the apartments.

She rolled her eyes. "I don't think anyone will try it now, Harry. You were practically snobbish."

"I told them the truth," Harry answered simply. "What they do now is their own choice. They're old enough to do as they please." He gave her a searching look, and added, "Thank you for coming. If you hadn't talked first, they wouldn't have even tried to listen to me."

Hermione hugged her arms to herself and nodded, unsure of her voice. They dodged the Auror again, Hermione wryly realizing that she was getting good at this deception, and made it back to the apartments without anyone the wiser.


	19. Chapter XVIII

Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

But all these stories came to nothing. Nothing was ever proved. Men debated and discussed these things a thousand times--who and what he had been, what he had done, where he had come from--and all of it came to nothing. No one knew the answer. But I think that I have found the answer. I think I knew from where he came.

He came from darkness. He came out of the heart of darkness, from the dark heart of the secret and undiscovered South. He came by night, just as he passed by night. He was night's child and partner, a token of the other side of man's dark soul, a symbol of those things that pass by darkness and that still remain, a symbol of man's evil innocence, and the token of his mystery, a projection of his own unfathomed quality, a friend, a brother, and a mortal enemy, an unknown demon, two worlds together--a tiger and a child.

"Child By Tiger," Thomas Wolfe

Chapter XVIII

Sirius winced when he saw the smoke, remembering too late about the heating charm left on his morning bagel. Dismissing the spell, he approached the smoking bread gingerly, picking it up and letting it out with a yelp for his burned fingers. Glaring at the food, he threw down a cooling charm that would have frozen ice, and then strolled over to the cabinets to see if there was any grub he could use to repair his torched breakfast.

A container of cream cheese, cool enough to soothe his burns, was yanked out and within moments he'd slathered practically the whole contents of the container on his blackened bagel, creating an inch-thick layer of smooth cream to cover the sooty bread beneath.

When the others walked by, he'd begun eating and, truthfully, the result hadn't been too bad. Biting through the sweet (too sweet) layer to the ash remains of the bread created a unique taste, one of those sweet-and-sour combinations.

One of his subordinates stopped to state at him with amused disgust. "What are you eating there, boss?" she asked curiously, obviously eyeing the towering layer of cream cheese. "Looks a little much."

Sirius grinned at her, using the back of a hand to clean off some wayward food, and answered by taking a finger and scooping through the cream cheese to the bagel beneath.

She made a face. "Gross! It's burned black!" Incredulous, she added, "I don't think any amount of sweetener can make that thing good enough to eat. It's pure carbon, that's what it is."

He shrugged, licking the cream cheese off and taking a bite where there was nothing to sweeten the burn. He nearly choked on the vile taste, but managed to keep his face straight, swallowing with a tight jaw. "It's all a manner of taste. I happen to like my bagels like that."

Shuddering, the witch turned away and started walking out of the break room. "I'll go around and remind everyone not to let you pick up food. By the way," she paused and looked back at him, expression formal: blank with no registered emotion, "they're up again. The Healer was able to fix everything from the first two, but... the last one she's only been able to waken." She let something slip. In her eyes, she was accusing him of going to far with that last one-

No, he corrected himself, seeing the light again in her eyes as she tilted her head to one side, staring at him a moment longer. There were no accusations here. She was asking for permission to emulate him, to do as he did. She was asking for that kind of power.

He smiled at her in an acknowledging fashion, in a way that he'd invented during the war that would completely cover his face without touching his eyes. "I'll be there as soon as I'm done." She wasn't ready for that kind of power. If she wanted it, she wasn't ready for it. "Thank the Healer for me, and tell her she's done her duty. I'm sure her family's missed her by now."

"The witch doesn't have any family. They were all killed during the war. It's amazing how she's able to treat them even with that. If it'd been me, I'm afraid I'd have killed the villains." She left, probably realizing that she was pushing the relaxed code of the break room too far, pushing to the point that he was getting annoyed.

He ate the last of his bagel in thoughtful silence, no longer tasting the burnt crispness nor the smooth sweetness as he swallowed and chewed. The three wizards in custody had all been captured in the middle of London, all posing as muggles. Even thinking about them made his insides curdle, completely erasing any relaxation he'd gained from this break.

They'd been posing as muggles, and had tried to pass Harry Potter off as a distant nephew, his friends off as visitors to the family, but they'd broken down when Aurors had charged into their hideout.

So far, the only thing Sirius had been able to...extract from them was that they'd found a potion that would block the bindings' effect for five days. Residue from it had been found in Harry's bloodstream during the routine Ministry check. The kidnappers found it and immediately thought of kidnapping the country's teenage champion for reasons not yet clear. He'd find the reason, though, even if it killed them. There was no way anyone did that to his godson.

A calm fell over him as his only superior walked into the break room, an upright, gray, fussy man who was fanatic about rules and procedures. The man dressed impeccably and the part in his hair was as perfectly straight as he was. The man wouldn't want to see him so emotional about a case.

Bartemius Crouch barely glanced over at Sirius as he reached for a prepared cup of coffee--black and unsweetened. His single glance, covering everything from the crumbs of the bagel, the smell of burnt food, the nearly-empty container of cream cheese, and the Auror's face, left everything stripped of disguise and saw right to what had happened. He grunted once, taking a deep swallow.

"Burned your food, did you?"

Sirius snorted, hiding his smile behind a blank expression. "'Course not, sir."

"Hmm..." Crouch took another drink, his eyes drifting around the rest of the room. "You've gotten a sweet tooth from when I've seen you last then, because that cream cheese was full the last time I saw."

Guiltily, Sirius swiped the container back into its cabinet, where cooling charms immediately began replacing gained heat. "Unless Mad-Eye comes in here, no one else is going to know about that." He wizened up, and seriously stared at his superior. "I'd heard you managed to get back here. Retirement wasn't kind to either of us, I see."

"Your godson wasn't kind to either of us," Crouch corrected grumpily, face as dark as ever. He made a rough gesture. "Everyone's heard of how it is between the two of you. A disgrace, that's what it is. Boy thinks he can get away with anything, and you're letting him. Meanwhile, that Leo is-"

Sirius cut in curtly. "Call him Leonard. He doesn't like anyone other than family calling him that."

The Ministry official shrugged carelessly. "Does it even matter? He's-"

"I also heard that you were reinstated while in the middle of a private investigation," Sirius interrupted again, arms folded across his chest. This news had come straight from Arthur Weasley, and the Order had asked everyone to look into the matter. Why, Sirius had no idea; Bartemius was an ally, not an enemy, and he'd been a darn good ally at that.

The man's face, closed as ever, seemed to shut up on itself, and he made an uninterested sound. "Maybe so. You planning to breach privacy?"

Sirius didn't answer. He'd had enough thinking, and was ready to get back extracting answers.

Surprisingly, though, Crouch made a hesitant noise, eyes watching Sirius, fully focused. Sirius gazed back curiously. He couldn't remember the last time his boss was hesitant about anything. "What would you say if I told you I've discovered a living relative of the Dark Lord?"

"_The Dark Lord?_" Sirius hissed, eyes flying wide. He felt his mouth drop open. The official watched him with lidded eyes, eyes that saw everything. After swallowing a few times, Sirius managed to choke out, "I didn't realize we'd found out who... who _he_ really was."

"It was blind of us," the older wizard replied absently, eyes sinking back into themselves as he thought, perhaps even forgetting Sirius was still there. "He always claimed to be a direct descendent of Salazar Slytherin, and that family kept meticulous care of their history up until half a century ago. The newer records were hard to come by, I swear, but..." Crouch blinked, snapping out of it, and stared slyly up at the Auror, an eyebrow twitching. "Again, what would you say, knowing there's a living relative?"

"I'd say to make sure that person was kept under constant supervision," Sirius bit out, sounding mangled and feeling completely dazed. He shook his head, missing the calculating expression on his superior's face.

"Oh, we are. Better than any on the planet." Crouch walked him out, at his side the whole way through the Ministry down to the interrogation rooms, his presence as Sirius tried to sort out that bit of information. No wonder the Order was curious! They _knew_ Crouch had found something and they'd rightly suspected it'd be a threat. By Merlin, a Slytherin, a real _Slytherin_?

History had been most sharp on the Founding families of Hogwarts. The four Founders were the most famous wizards and witches on record, and their bloodlines had been nearly worshipped by the magical community until they'd dropped out of sight a few hundred years ago. Sirius glanced at Crouch out of the corner of his eyes, still walking swiftly through the building. Where had that old wizard managed to find documentation for one of the families' lineage? Myth had it that those records were kept hidden by the families to protect themselves. And, if Crouch had found the Slytherin bloodline again, had he found the Gryffindor?

Entering the interrogation chamber erased all such thoughts from Sirius's mind. He straightened in the darkness, ignoring Crouch's blaring presence in favor of the three strangers. His face was grim.

When he'd left for his break, two Aurors took over for him and both were still going at it with a vicious efficiency. One stood back, wand out and providing a witness to the proceedings, while the other was questioning without break or pause.

"What is your name?" the second asked. No answer. "Why did you kidnap Harry Potter?" No answer. "Are you in anyway connected with the so-called Death Eaters?" No answer. The three prisoners only stared at nothing, wrists bound with chains to the floor. Giving in to a fit of frustration, one of the Auror bashed a prisoner's head with a fist. "Talk!"

Again, the only response was silence.

The first Auror lazily glanced over and caught sight of Sirius, nearly jumping from his robes at that. "Mr. Black! We thought you'd be awhile in the coming." At the greeting, the other stood up hurriedly, face slightly flushed at having been caught in the act of such violence. Both were too new to have been in the war.

"It doesn't take long to eat a bagel." Sirius calmly looked at his two subordinates. "I'll be taking over from here." The two Aurors exchanged glances, then hurried from the room without a word. As they shuffled from the room, Sirius nodded towards Crouch. "If you don't mind, I prefer to work in privacy."

The official gave Sirius a look, sharp and piercing. "Don't get over your head," he warned pointedly, heading towards the door. In the poor lighting, Crouch's straight face made him look like some half-painted artwork, not quite finished enough to receive its humanity. "I'll be doing enough work as it is, trying to calm down the French. The Minister says they're panicking, worried that the guards we forced on them aren't enough. They'll be trying to bleed my forces for that blasted school." Pausing at the door, Crouch glanced back quickly at Sirius one last time before walking out.

One of the prisoners looked up weakly as the heavy door swung shut with a magical slap. An expression of hatred blanketed the man's face for a moment before he convulsed, making a choking sound, and fell limp again.

The look made Sirius pause in recognition. It was a look he'd received from every captured Death Eater, and a look he thought he'd wiped off the man's face before. "Do you remember who I am?" he tried softly, walking towards that man slowly, knowing full well that their treatment could have caused temporary memory loss. He hoped they remembered. Being forced to start from the beginning would be wasteful. The other two prisoners winced, backing away--or as far away as their chains allowed them. Technically, the actual chains were simply ornamental, as metal alone could hardly hold a panicked wizard, but they did serve in preventing much mobilization.

The prisoner spat out "Sirius Black" like the name was a curse.

Sirius nodded, stopping to lean against a wall. "Do you remember why I'm here?"

There was no answer. The prisoner grimaced and looked down, as if willing himself to complete silence.

Sirius didn't care. He'd had plenty of experience with voiceless Death Eaters before, and knew that each had a limit before breaking. His heart froze at the memory of all the carnage he'd seen them leave behind, and he stared at the man in front of him, a man who seemed almost like another species. Being allowed to wither away in darkness had caused corruption beyond any healing, but Azkaban would have to be filled beyond limit for England to be rid of such filth. Such filth could breed even in the shadow of a blink.

Casually, he asked, "Do you remember what we were talking about before? About those Death Eater codes of yours-"

"I'm not a Death Eater!" one of the others cried out dully, voice hoarse. "I tell you, I am not."

Sirius ignored that one. That one had been yelling the same phrase the entire evening, and repetition gave no proof. "You were telling me," he continued, addressing the first one, "about how superior you were to the muggle-born. I was just thinking a minute ago, that if you're so much better, shouldn't you be trying to be the example? That would be much easier than any exterminator role-"

The Death Eater hissed out a breath, chest collapsing as Sirius pulled his fist back. He'd have to remember to take it easy. The Healer wouldn't be pleased if she had to redo all her work, and no Mediwitch could match her expertise.

Getting no response aside from an angry sputtering of broken breath, Sirius started his circling again. "I'd thought we were making some progress earlier, when you told me how my godson with kidnapped from his school." He only kept calm by biting the inside of his lips; he only kept from attacking the three again by clenching his fists. "But now it looks like you're back to resisting." He paused, in front of the first prisoner again and asked very softly, "Do you know what that means?"

The wizard trembled slightly.

"It means that I'll have to start all over again." Sirius let his words sink in before continuing. "I only want a few simple things. Your names, and your reasons. Then we'll be able to take you before a jury and have you judged. All of England's waiting to see your faces--the news has only just gotten out about what you three have done, and no one can quite believe it. I'd rather have them see your real faces, but if this takes too much longer, they'll have to settle for some quick charm work-"

"I can't tell you," another voice quivered out in fear. It was the last one, the one who hadn't spoken. Now he opened his mouth only to give Sirius a sharper rage. "I--if I tell you, you'll kill me!"

"I don't kill," Sirius replied, leaning back against the wall again, presenting a calm image to trick the three with. "At least, I don't like to."

But the prisoner shook his head violently, making the bruises from earlier abuse stand out even greater. "You'll kill me."

"Try me," Sirius challenged, annoyed with the man's delaying tactics. There was no response, so Sirius walked over to the other two. "Anyone can talk here. You seem to be forgetting that it was my _godson_ you kidnapped! I want to know what happened, what you did to him, and what you were planning on doing. If you don't begin talking, I'll lose my temper." His calm tone didn't do much to hide the rage in his voice and eyes, the fury that was waiting for the slightest trip to be let loose.

The talk came slow at first, mumbled and broken sentences that hardly made any sense. He hardly needed to use much magic after that, and then all his spells were aimed only for temporary damage. The Healer would be proud of him.

The three's reasons made a sort of dreadful sense, logic that Sirius couldn't contest. Apparently, there was a leak at the school, and certain individuals had realized how the champions' odd sickness connected with the first task, fearing that Leonard Potter would break down if he realized his brother had been poisoned. A potions brewer had made the formula, then they'd sneaked onto the school grounds with intent of saving Harry Potter's life.

The only thing they forgot was that Sirius Black had no idea that there was a plan to poison his godson.

Harry led the two into the Great Hall amid the flurry of other students scrambling to assemble for the meeting. However, he stood out: proud and calm, Harry was the only champion not completely bewildered. Outside, the sun's last rays tipped past the western horizon, and the students eyed each other warily. It was the last day in the month of September. The task's time was now run out, yet despite the prepared and waiting stance the resident champions had held all day (at least those who could stand; even with the positively magical recovery of almost every sickened champion, three or so still lay ill in the hospital wing) nothing had happened. There had been no task, and the champion's vigilance had all been for naught.

When Draco hissed these disparaging words quietly to the group of three, Harry narrowed his eyes and didn't reply. For him, the pieces had already fallen together, answer having come when the day passed by without event to create a decidedly twisted conclusion. He kept tight reign of his fury, though, keeping it cold and locked away, cracking behind his eyes like pressured ice.

For this ceremony, the Ministers of each separate country made a presence. All of them donned black robes, the attire of judgement, and marched about with solemn expression. Something serious must have happened, Ginny deduced softly, and Harry clenched a fist. Something serious did happen--someone hadn't gone according to plan, despite efforts to fix the problem.

The sun was completely erased from the sky, and thousands of small candles floated in the air as a defiance of the night. Harry had chosen the seat closest to the door, planning on bolting as soon as the ceremonies ended--or once the opportunity presented itself when the gathered Aurors lost their sharp awareness. As though one of those guards felt Harry's eyes, a head turned and looked at him, coldly examining. A shiver of nerves ran down Harry's spine. He broke the visual contact immediately.

In an effort to press time faster, Harry leaned forward and struck his elbows on the table, fingers steepled and expression intensely blank. Ginny asked him a question that was answered with efficient politeness and nothing more. His concentrated state drew the amused looks of the other champions, them believing him cast out of his depth in this Tournament and close to panic... until they remembered who hands had passed along the fast antidote. At the memory, amused expressions became ironed flat, leaving speculating eyes and vaguely suspicious frowns.

The ceremony began quickly, a show of efficiency in gaudiness. A Minister, designated as one of the many hosts that evening, abused the privilege by shamelessly praising a single champion throughout wisps of truly meaningful words during his delegated time. The next few followed example, claiming gloating and flattering rights. However, if their actions were meant to boost moral, the exact opposite reaction was produced: this process of singling out a select few only served to alienate those champions, making them as pray to the others.

In a tournament of this size, pride was as high-strung as temper. Nationalistic feelings came out with alarming fervor. Each teenager had been burdened down with the load of their country's dignity, and the load was heavy.

Like lobsters in a can, each champion was willing to pay any price for victory, try any strategy for success, yet they would not suffer any peer to do the same and win out. The mindset was becoming increasingly firm: win at any cost and prevent everyone else from doing the same. With each speech, with each champion praised, the undercurrent of resentment grew thicker until the hairs on Harry's neck stood up in shrill warning.

He felt a doom-bell ring the moment Minister Fudge stood amidst applause, face flushed merrily.

"Welcome, welcome!" the Minister greeted. A translating spell in effect echoed his words into a dozen languages, each sounding like English to Harry. He sat up straighter, ignoring Ginny beside him and Draco watching. He wanted to know the reasons behind the month's activity, wanted to know if there was something he didn't know that would make it better, more acceptable than it currently was.

"I know many of you were waiting for the first task to begin, and more than a few of you were disappointed. True, the sun has gone down. The month has ended. But that doesn't mean that there was no task. On the contrary," Fudge paused to leer over the group, "many of you have passed with flying marks."

The quiet in the hall was one born of polite surprise, many of the teenagers wondering if Fudge had gone nuts. Task? There had been no task. The month had been needlessly squandered, and there was nothing else to be said about it. Draco grunted, voice hardly carrying. "Waste of time indeed," he echoed in a purring tone. "Granger's about to blow a fuse without having anything to do."

Ginny glared at him, the action seen out of the corner of Harry's eyes. "Don't be so quick to insult her when she isn't here," the witch whispered back.

"Now that the month is over, it is time for us to reveal what the first task was... and what the next task will be." Beaming through the excited calls, he motioned for the hall to quiet down. "Yes, yes, that'll do. I know you'll all very anxious to know both of those things. First, though, I have a sad announcement to make. Not all of you passed this first task easily. That is not to say that you will be disqualified from the Tournament--by at least getting through this task, you have clung to the Tournament and will be able to go on to the next task. But your hardships bring up a certain point that needs to be addressed."

He cleared his throat noisily, and Harry suspected the Minister was doing it more for the attention than for any actual need. The noise was terrible. "This is a very strict Tournament, and as such there will be some hard rules to follow. The most important is also the strictest, and that is that by failing one task, any single task, you are dropped from the others and by that, I mean dropped completely from the Tournament. There will be no second chances here, I'm afraid, but doesn't that also make the entire thing more exciting?"

Despite his hard smile and the scattered applause, most of the champions only looked between each other darkly, the friendships developed in the past month dissolving in an instant. Fudge and the other Ministers had just turned the whole ordeal into a very cutthroat business, and Harry decided on a hard note that they would have to deal with the consequences. Already, he could see certain schemes forming in certain champions' minds. They would do anything to win, even if that meant breaking the rules. "Accidental" collisions in the hallway were about to grow dramatically in number, and a few champions would probably find themselves in the hospital wing due to their own mates.

Fudge went on in depth about other pointless ingredients being added to the Tournament, and Harry droned him out, feeling suddenly very tired. Meticulously, he blocked out all thoughts of travel. Snape's potion ended this morning, and the binding's pain was now set to return in full force.

Finally, the speech was over, and Fudge began his slow explanation of the first task.

Harry could have swallowed his tongue. Hearing the words made his anger bloom up, the confirmation of his suspicions like an explosion of red. The first task had been a deliberate poisoning of the champions, having been accomplished at the welcoming feast. The first task had been deadly, and there was no excuse to it.

There wasn't anything to be said. The rest of the students thought it an amazing secret, and gushed to each other without pause until the Minister finally silenced the room with a booming shout. Some laughter started, humor found in such a clever thing of the Ministries.

Ginny, though, she snapped her eyes up to Harry in semi-horror. "Oh," she breathed, staring at the boy, her heart pounding. "Oh."

Harry ignored her as well as he did anything, looking straight back towards the Ministers without so much as blinking. Dozens of furtive glances were sent his way that Ginny was aware of, like little pinpricks across her skin, and she shuddered at the suspicion lurking behind all those eyes. They had to be champions. Hermione had told her all about how they refused to drink Harry's antidote, and now they were probably wondering how he knew in the first place.

Swallowing, the Gryffindor girl threw her head down, forcing her eyes to focus on the clenched fists in her lap instead of the rest of the dizzy room. Voices continued, droning on about the specifics of the tasks from how the potion was made to the antidote for it, and how much care the Ministries took in choosing the specific poison to insure that no one was unduly hurt in this measure.

"Idiots," she heard Malfoy mutter beneath the loudness of the room. Against her will she peeked up at him from the corner of her eyes, only to see him staring almost angrily at Harry. Ginny looked over as well, seeing a hairline crack through Harry's calm, seeing the tremendous effect the laughter was having on him. The others students thought this whole thing a fine joke, like a trip down a scary ride only to come out safe at the end. Harry didn't look like he cared, but his face was tight enough to drain blood.

She didn't realize she was staring until he looked over at her, blowing her away with the sheer fury in his eyes. Instinctively, she leaned close to him, mouth parted open and eyes wide with sympathy. So angry! "Harry..."

"They didn't think," he murmured, a dark rant that matched his eyes, that only she could hear. "Someone could have died. All for a bloody contest." Her hand on his wrist, she could feel his muscles tightening in controlled rage, could feel his body practically shaking. He stared back into her eyes. "Someone could have died."

Ginny couldn't think. Her skin tingled as though some cold chill had just passed through her like a ghost, and abruptly all the noise stopped. It was only when she couldn't see his eyes anymore that she realized all the lights in the hall had gone out.

Someone grabbed her shoulder and ripped her away as a tumultuous noise erupted, students panicked at the sudden plunge into darkness and a voice hissed into her ear. "Stay away from Potter, Weasley."

At the front of the room, the Ministers laughed and explained off the blackness, claiming responsibility for the lights' dousing. It was time for a magical show, and the ceiling of the hall was suddenly blazing in fantastic colors, like smeared fires. Each country contributed something, be it a fiery shower of colors or the shadow of some creature. From Fudge came the four animals of Hogwarts, adding to the beauty of Europe's magic.

By the light of the show, Ginny saw cold gray eyes glinting at her, narrowed with some dark emotion. She jerked away, glaring at her attacker. "Don't touch me."

"Stay away from him," Malfoy warned again, hand coming off of her shoulder distastefully. That expression, as if merely touching her was enough to make him contaminated, made Ginny's insides shrivel, and she flushed with rage. Deliberately, she turned back around to look to Harry again.

He was gone.

The front doors opened, letting in a long silver light from outside, and Ginny half-stood, thinking she'd see Harry. But instead of just a singly person, there were two. The Aurors at the door held them back a moment, properly chastising them for coming so late to the ceremonies.

"You're absolutely horrible, Ron. Look, everything's started already--I told you we were late."

"You were the one who wouldn't leave, not me, Hermione. I was ready to go-"

"You were wearing wrinkled robes! Even I think it's a bit too lax."

The voices were whispered angrily back and forth between the two as they stumbled blindly in the dark. Ginny let out a low breath of relief. Finally Hermione and Ron decided to show up. When she'd left them back in the apartments, she thought that they'd only be a few minutes longer at most.

Ginny stood up, waiting for a flash of light to wave her hand wildly and loudly whispered, "Hermione! Hermione, we're over here."

The two figures stopped just at the moment the light show ended and the torches returned, leaving Ginny standing like a maniac. She flushed deeply, but few noticed her aside from the two she was trying to get the attention of. Ron sauntered up with a smug grin on his face. "Gee, Ginny, thanks for saving us so many seats."

Hermione, though, looked a little concerned as she sat down. "What's the matter, Ginny? Something wrong?" She looked around. "Where's Harry and Malfoy?"

"Harry just left but Malfoy..." Ginny turned around and made a little noise of surprise. "Malfoy's gone, too!" The empty seats around her were like testiments to her carelessness. How could she let both of them slip away? Her cheeks burned with embaressment.

"We noticed," said Ron with that smug grin still on his face, "which is why we asked in the first place."

"Shut up, Ron," Ginny shot back huffily, moving to stand back up again. "I've got to go after them!"

"Go right on ahead," her brother allowed magnamnamously. "Be sure to come back when Harry chews you out."

Ginny's mouth dropped open, her cheeks bruning with anger now. "Harry is not going to chew me out!" she declared loudly. The Ministers had returned to their closing speeches and most of the rooms attention was focused on them, but the few students nearby turned to give her a hard stare. Ginny swallowed and sat back down.

"He won't," she continued in a much quieter voice, but Hermione's blank expression stopped her. "What?"

"Well..." The girl laced her fingers together and gave Ginny an imploring look. "He... Harry might, actually. In fact, if he did anything else, I'd be very much surprised."

Ginny felt her mouth dropping open a second time. "Hermione," she said in a pained voice, "I thought you were on my side."

Hermione laughed quietly, letting her head shake slightly. "Oh, I'm on your side, Ginny, but I have to tell you when you're going about it the wrong way. Remember what Ron saw?"

She did. Memories--so many that they blurred when Ron had tried to get a sense of order from them--all of Harry Potter as a child, spending time in the presence of Death Eaters. All stored in a Pensieve at the Malfoy Manor. Her stomach felt like its bottom dropped out at the memory of what Ron claimed to have seen.

"Of course I remember," Ginny said with a harsh tone to her voice, trying to keep it from shaking. Death Eaters playing--playing!--with a little boy. Teaching him the Dark Arts. Brainwashing him. She swallowed tightly.

Ron, however, was not so nearly as moved by the thought. Seeing her pale expression, her brother rolled his eyes mercilessly. "Come on," he sighed over the sound of applause as one of the speeches finished. "It had to have been over five years ago. Harry's been living with _Sirius Black_ since he was ten, remember?" He lowered his eyebrows. "I thought we decided that Harry was in no danger of becoming a Death Eater."

"I wasn't worried about that!" Ginny gave him a disgusted look, insulted that he'd think it of her.

"We decided that Harry wasn't in danger of becoming a Death Eater as long as he stayed _away_ from Death Eaters," Hermione clarified for the two of them. She leaned forward on her elbows. "But we also decided that it'd take more than a few days to get Harry to trust us. We decided that we weren't going to push him so hard so early," and her stare was hard when she looked at Ginny.

"It's not that I'm worried about Harry becoming a Death Eater," Ginny repeated desparately, trying to make sure they understood what she was feeling. "I'm not worried about that at all. I mean..." She let the words hang aimlessly, unable to break her promise to Harry. Much of what he said made sense, now, and she knew he'd never forgive _them_ for killing his parents, but she just wasn't free to explain it to her brother and friend.

"We know." Hermione smiled and patted Ginny's hand reassuringly while her brother rolled his eyes again. "I can't imagine Harry ever following people who killed his parents, but they made an impression on him when he was younger. We have to make sure that impression isn't still there."

Ron snorted. "Right," he dragged out the word, "enough with all this 'feelings' nonsense."

"You're not going after Harry," Hermione declared with a little nod towards Ginny, "because we're going to take it slow with him until he knows he can trust us."

"Why did he run out in the first place?"

Ginny blaunched. "I almost forgot. The Ministers. They told us what the first task was."

"First task?" Hermione raised an eyebrow in surprise, but Ginny thought she detected a skittish nervousness in her eye. "I didn't think there was one."

She gave the fifth year a searching look, then straightened up suddenly. "You know," Ginny stated with a little surprise. "You know--you knew!"

Hermione's expression fell. "So it really is-"

"And what about us who don't know?" Ron interrupted, giving Ginny a strange look, one that he passed on to Hermione. His forehead wrinkled. "You know, Hermione, it's a little scary when you figure out everything." Hermione only let out a long suffering sigh, slumping forward to lay her head against the table.

He frowned, looking bewildered. "So, I take it that whatever you know, it's not good news?" he asked Ginny.

Ginny smiled in a self-depreciating manner. "You're going to love this," she started darkly. "The first task was the poisoning of all the champions at the welcoming feast. They were supposed to recognize the symptoms of a massive poisoning, diagnose the specific poison, and come up with an antidote for it. If you got through the first month, you pass the task."

Ron's blank look was all the worth it.

"Wh-what?"

"It just made sense," came the low murmur from beneath Hermione's hands. "Some of the ingredients... only the Ministry has access to them..."

"This is a bunch of-"

"Ron!" Ginny grabbed his robe sleeve as he angrily started to stand, and using all her force she managed to yank him back down, hard enough that he slammed into his seat. "Running up there and punching Fudge won't solve anything." She paused, then smiled. "Though it would be very funny-"

"This isn't funny, Ginny!" Ron yelled at her, albeit very quietly. The explosive sound didn't carry past their table. He took a deep breath. "Hermione could have died-" He stopped when Ginny started shaking her head.

"No," she interrupted softly, and Hermione lifted up her head to listen, "they said they timed it so that no one would be killed by it. The poison was a very slow acting one. Even if she didn't take the antidote, Hermione would have half a month left before it started getting really serious. Look, over there."

Ginny pointed carefully to a few tables away from the front where a girl and two boys were sitting, all old enough to be champions and all looking very ill. A Ministry official was at their table, passing out small vials and whispering to them.

"She's one of the champions who didn't take Harry's antidote, but she's still fine enough to come here tonight. The two guys, they're the same way. Technically, since they survived through the first month, they've passed the first task, but Fudge said that they'd be handicapped since they didn't get any antidote by today."

A minute or two passed in silence as the three watched the champions. Hermione finally said, "At least the tasks are going to be interesting."

"Say that to Harry," Ginny answered darkly, feeling a chill run through her when she remembered the look he'd given her before disappearing. "I think he doesn't find the Tournament interesting at all."

It wasn't until the ceremonies were over and dinner done that the three started back to the apartment. Hermione pulled out of her pockets the day's _Prophet_, shaking her head at the front headlines.

"Listen to this," she directed them: "'Minister Fudge has confirmed the kidnapping of the five Hogwarts students currently residing at Beauxbatons for the European Wizarding Tournament. Among them, Harry Potter, Hogwarts' champion, was suspected of being the real target with his friends being dragging into the incident.'"

"Friends," Ron scoffed. "Not bloody yet."

Hermione skimmed down, mumbling under her breath, then she looked up. They'd stopped under a lamp post to read to paper before getting to the apartment, which was just a ways off. The lights were on. Someone was in, at least.

"There's not a lot more," she continued, sounding a little disappointed with the paper's attempt. "But I have to say that I hope Lucius Malfoy picked some good men to cover for us. Whoever they are, they've already been taken in for questioning by Aurors.

"'Currently, Aurors have taken in three wizards, named unreleased. The only link tying these wizards to the kidnapping is the fact that Auror Sirius Black has taken charge of their questioning. A Ministry official stated, "If Black's here, it's got to be about his godson," meaning Harry Potter.'"

They looked up at each other. Finally, Ron looked away and softly said, "They had better be good men. Aurors have a knack for finding out everything."

Hermione swallowed and continued reading a last few words: "'The students were taken anywhere from three to five days ago, but are now returned safely to Beauxbatons. It is rumored that more Aurors will be assigned to the school's safety, though those rumors are unconfirmed.

"'In related news, the Boy Who Lived, Leonard Potter, has vacationed from his home at the Black Manor. Though his whereabouts are not known, it is known that Mr. Potter was informed of his brother's kidnapping. Speculations are that Leonard Potter's disappearance at the same time of his brother's reappearance are no coincidental events, but only the working of Leonard Potter in finding out and capturing his brother's kidnappers.

"'It is expected that Leonard Potter will remain in seclusion for a short while, taking a much deserved break after such heroic efforts.'"

"Well, if that doesn't beat all," Ron quirked. "We're kidnapped for some unknown reason and then rescued by Leonard Potter himself. If I didn't know any better, I'd say this sheer sensationalism."

Ginny smirked. "Don't joke," she warned seriously. "I bet that people will be asking for your autograph after this. You've gotten closer to Leonard Potter through this newspaper article alone than most people ever will."

Hermione tapped the paper to her chin with a vaguely thoughtful look. You know," she started slowly, "Leonard Potter didn't really come to rescue us."

"Really?" Ginny laughed. "What a surprise."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione continued, "No! What I mean is that, since he wasn't there to rescue us, it means he disappeared for some other reason. Because of this article, no one will think twice about Leonard Potter being gone for any amount of time."

Ron shrugged, stealing the paper away from Hermione and letting it slide to the ground. "So?" he asked carelessly, even as Ginny glared at his back and picked the trash up. They started walking again to the apartment. "It doesn't have anything to do with us-"

"Which is exactly how you felt when the champions got sick," interrupted Ginny.

"Which is exactly why we should be concerned about this," finished Hermione. In the twilight, it wasn't too hard to make out her contemplative expression. "I'm beginning to think that this International Wizarding Tournament means we need to start paying a lot more attention to international events than we usually do."

"Leonard Potter's disappearance isn't an international event."

"It is," Hermione pointed out, "when he's never gone missing before. I know all about it. His guardians, if not the Ministry, won't let him out of the house without sending out a mob of Aurors to make sure he's all right, and even they're outscored by how obsessive the media is. They hounded on for days before he even showed up in Diagon Alley with Harry at the start of the semester. They know his every plan--they have a department devoted to knowing exactly where he is at all times. So it is strange that the only mention of his vacation is a sentence or two at the end of another article."

"Maybe you're wrong," Ginny said with a shrug. They were near the door to the apartment and she rattled the recovered paper in her hands. "They might have another article devoted to him--you didn't check the entire paper, did you?"

"I don't have to," came the simple answer. "Leonard Potter's front news and nothing else. They'd never think of putting him a page behind anything else."

Ron let out an amused sound from the back of his throat as he opened the door for them. "That's our Hermione," he announced loudly, closing the door behind him once he'd stepped into the bright area. "Knows every little fact there is to know about nothing."

"At least our evening wasn't an entire waste!" Hermione let her robes slide off and threw them over a chair, then gave Ron a look. "At least I accomplished something."

"You know," she continued, pausing near a chair, "I was thinking about how we should start getting to know Harry. Listen to this: we should all go out somewhere for a few hours and just talk."

"Go out?" Ron looked a little unimpressed by the idea. He raised an eyebrow. "I don't know, Hermione."

"It's a good idea," she insisted, bringing a smile to Ginny's face. Hermione was so stubborn sometimes. "What if we all went and walked around through the grounds tomorrow. It's not like any of us have really spent any time out on campus, and Beauxbatons is such a beautiful school. We could pack a picnic basket and just have a fun time away from it all."

"Well," Ginny gave them a small smile, "I for one think that it's a good idea. We really haven't done much out here. I don't want to go back to Hogwarts to admit that I didn't spend any time in the gardens."

Ron rolled his eyes. "What exactly is so fun about gardens?" he asked with a sour face. "I mean, I could understand if we went hiking through the forests, but they're forbidden. I don't want to have to spend all day lugging a basket around while you two go crazy over weird statures."

Hermione smiled at him apologetically. "Sorry, Ron, but if the two of us agree, then it's decided. I'll try to keep the cooing down to a minimum." She glanced at Ginny. "but we should first make sure Harry comes with us. He's the target, after all. Ginny, could you go see if he's here?"

"Why wouldn't he be here?"

"It's just a possibility-"

"You think there's somewhere better to be at this time of night?"

"Harry?" Ginny called out, stepping tentatively through the hall. The lights were on, true, but she didn't hear any noise aside from Hermione and Ron's familiar bickering as they started at it. Through the crack at the bottom of his door, it was clear that no one was in Harry's room. A few steps down showed the same sign from Malfoy's.

She shook her head in frustration and turned around, loudly announcing, "It doesn't look like they're here."

Ron bellowed that he'd thought so, and Hermione chided him for being so noisy.

"Right." Ginny walked by and blew out the torch in the hall. Without the bruning fires, she could clearly see outlines thrown in Harry's room by his large windows and the moonlight streaming in.

And one of those outlines moved.

Ginny stared at it a moment, struck dumb by the possibility that Harry was in there and had heard them come in--heard them bellowing about him--and the outline moved again. Definitely a person. She knocked softly on the door. "Harry? Harry, are you in there?"

The door opened and it was not Harry Potter.

It hadn't been the easiest thing, finding Harry Potter. The boy had taken to wondering through the grounds like a lost dog and Draco was very near considering buying him a leash. Certainly Potter wouldn't mind--if anything, Draco was sure that the other boy would be glad to be anchored down by something.

No, finding Potter hadn't been easy. Talking to him had been harder and persuading the Gryffindor to finally head indoors was the worse. At the end, it took a mention of the plans in work for Fudge to get Potter to budge. Reaching the apartment after spending over an hour outside and being on his last nerves, Draco had actually been momentarily grateful to see that the lights weren't on. The others had to be asleep, and he graciously forgave them for just dropping off while he'd been out in the cold, more relieved that no one would be up to see him so discomposed than anything.

Therefore, Draco thought himself excused for his reaction upon walking into the apartment.

Potter was following wordlessly, so quiet that Draco fought against the urge to turn and make sure he was actually there. They got to the apartment and Draco felt like his eyes were dried up with sand. After all, the Aurors hadn't allowed them much sleep the night before, and even after they left Draco couldn't fall asleep when he knew Potter would try something stupid, like sneaking the antidote off to the rest of the champions.

The fact that he'd been right didn't help matters. The fact that the poisoning had been the first task didn't help matters. Had it been up to him, Draco would have bargained for every last drop of the antidote; finding out that, by giving them the antidote, Potter had actually helped them, had nearly enraged Draco--such a wasted opportunity, one worth so much.

He dragged his feet up to the apartment door, nearly stumbling on the slightly raised step into the room and almost stopping when he felt the nice, soothing heat of the air. He sighed and, in a voice that was scratchy and tired and so different from his normal voice, he quietly said, "It looks like everyone else is gone to bed."

There was a slight squishy noise behind him, the sound of fabric, and then Potter had entered the room and closed the door. There was just enough light to reflect in his green eyes so that he looked more like some feline creature, with those bright green eyes settled against midnight black shadows, when he looked over at Draco. Draco wanted to smack him for looking so awake when it was so late.

"It looks like," he echoed softly.

Draco shrugged his shoulders irritably, shaking off his robes. Fog had been gathering and his clothes were now slightly damp. "Right," he stated in his gravelly voice, "I'm going to bed."

It was when he was going to carefully spread his robes on a couch to let them dry out that he noticed her, and without thinking he cursed, "Damn it, Weasley. Can't this wait until morning?"

"It's good to see you, too, Malfoy," she answered lightly from where she'd been sitting on the couch, still as a statue.

"It's never good to see you," Draco replied bitterly, sinking onto the couch opposite her. He let out a long sigh. "I'm taking this to mean that you don't want to wait until morning-"

"Just go to bed, Draco," Potter interrupted. Draco looked towards where his shadow had been and Potter had taken out his wand, had relit the cool torches. The Gryffindor looked over at him again. "Whatever she wants to talk about, it can wait until morning."

"Actually, it can't," Weasley objected lowly. She was tired; it was hard to ignore how her eyes were squinting wearily in the torchlight, how she was struggling not to let her head rest against the furniture.

Draco frowned at her. "Well, what is it?" he asked angrily, wishing he could curse her to make sure she'd never sleep another day. His bones ached, and there was Potter, sitting down as if it were still midday.

The girl swallowed loudly, eyes staying mostly on Potter but occasionally straying to him. "Harry... Harry, your godfather's come to visit."

"This _can_ wait until morning," Potter declared suddenly, springing back up from his chair.

But as he started quickly for the halls, she loudly said, "He's waiting for you in your rooms. And... and he's saying that you're brother's coming to visit."

Harry stormed into the room and saw him. He'd hoped that Ginny was lying, that his godfather was not waiting just feet away, but there was no denying the fact that Sirius was sitting on his bed, eyes closed and looking half-asleep.

The wizard roused himself at the sound of Harry's door slamming shut. "Harry..."

"What are you doing here?" Harry cut in viciously. Days apart from the wizard hadn't improved Harry's feelings towards him. He could still remember their argument, remember Sirius's hypocrisy, and the memory burned.

He hadn't tried to hide his animosity, so Sirius picked up on it really quickly. His godfather half-winced, then frowned. "What do you mean? Can't I visit you just for the sake of it?"

"You could," Harry answered slowly, "but you'd never do that. You only bother me when you want something."

'Tell me about Leo,' he urged, but kept quiet.

"I thought you should know that we captured the Death Eaters who'd kidnapped you," Sirius began after a few minutes of silence. His godfather looked like he was doing everything in his power not to explode, but just seeing that filled Harry with an inane urge to see how far he could push the older wizard. How long would Sirius last before blowing up.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "It's about time, considering they were there when you found us." He shook his head and leaned back against the doorframe. "I already knew that, Sirius. Tell me something I don't know--tell me something I need to know--or just leave me alone."

Sirius narrowed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Is there a reason you're being so nasty?" he asked with an edge to his voice.

"Because I don't like you," Harry shot back without thinking. He cringed inside, but Sirius hardly reacted at all. His godfather only froze for a minute, taking another deep breath, and remained very stiff.

"I... I can understand that," Sirius replied slowly, swallowing loudly. "I know you blame me for getting kidnapped in the first place, you blame me for making you come to school at all. It couldn't have been very fun with those Death Eaters-"

"As a matter of fact, it was the best time I've had since leaving the Black Manor," Harry interrupted loftily.

"I _know_ that you have very good reasons not to like me right now," Sirius bit out, teeth grinding. Harry raised an eyebrow and Sirius sighed, clenching his laced fingers together in an obvious attempt to stay calm. "That's fine. But I just came here to tell you we know why they kidnapped you."

Harry blinked, suddenly remembering that Lucius hadn't said much about their alibis, only that they didn't need to worry. He was interested in what the Malfoy had managed to plan, how the wizard had managed to fool the Ministry.

'Not that it would be very difficult,' he thought dryly, staring at his godfather. 'Look what they have to work with.'

"I heard that Fudge announced what the first task was," Sirius went on, his face going very pale and his voice dry. He had to stop a minute before going on. "But even though no one was told before today, your kidnappers had been able to read all the signs of a... of a poisoning. They didn't want Leo to have to deal with your death so they kidnapped you, planning on giving you the antidote."

'A very good alibi,' Harry judged, impressed. 'Just say Leo's name, and no Ministry official will touch them.' And, this alibi would also account for why Harry wasn't poisoned and why he had been able to bring back enough antidote for the rest of the champions. Harry smiled faintly. 'Lucius, you're a genius.'

His smile had a calming affect on his godfather. Sirius smiled back faintly, looking a little hopeful. "It is a little funny," the man agreed, jerking Harry from his thoughts. "It's always about Leo, isn't it?"

Harry's smile abruptly faded, turning instead into a faint frown.

Sirius stopped smiling as well, eyes looking a little sad, and he slowly started to stand. "I... I just thought you'd want to know. I just wanted to make sure you're ok-"

"Feeling guilty?" Harry asked, curious. Sirius looked almost... almost hurt. Hurt in a way that he'd never looked before. He frowned more. "Why? Why would you care?"

Sirius's shoulders shuddered and he sat back down, hands coming up to cover his face. It took Harry a moment to realize that his godfather was, in fact, crying softly.

"Harry... Harry... you could have died..."

Harry's eyebrows shot up and he backed uncertainly into the door. "... um..."

Sirius suddenly leaped up, taking long steps across the room to grab Harry into a huge hug before the boy even realized it. His godfather was muttering some babble under his breath, something about, "I was so worried," "could have died," "never let anything happen."

It was one of the strangest moments in Harry's life. He stayed very stiff even as Sirius tried to fold him in two, not quite sure how to react. His mother had always hugged him when he was little, his father as well, but Sirius had hugged him only once or twice in the last five years. With Sirius, it was always anger and fights; never crying and hugs.

Awkwardly, Harry tried to back away, but he was right against the door and Sirius was clinging to him in an almost desperate fashion. He couldn't stand it anymore and he roughly tried to push his godfather away. "Get off of me," muttered Harry, swallowing uncertainly. "Sirius, let me go."

Sirius slowly let go, lifting Harry's chin to stare into his eyes. Harry jerked away from the touch, feeling burned. He felt like he was suffocating. "Let go!"

"Harry-"

"No, get off me." Harry shoved him back, breathing quickly. "Don't touch me."

His godfather looked absolutely confused. "Harry," he started, taking a step forward, one hand out to touch Harry's shoulder. "Harry, what's going on?"

"You can't do this," came the quick, low answer through his harsh breathing. "You can't do this to me. It isn't fair."

"Wha..."  
Harry gestured violently. "This!" he spat out, feeling a lash of anger at the wizard before him. "You can't just... can't just come here and pretend like you care. It isn't fair!"

Sirius's eyes widened. "Harry, I _do_ care-"

"Liar," Harry shot back hurriedly, as though he were hyperventilating. He shoved back at Sirius, quickly stepping around the Auror and gaining more breathing room. "You're a liar. I've learned to live with you for the last five years, and I'm not going to let you do this to me."

His godfather stared back at him wordlessly.

"I'm not," Harry swallowed, eyes feeling tight. He glared. "I'm not going to believe you when you pretend like you think I matter. I know you don't. I know you hate me just as much as I hate you, Sirius, so you can't trick me now."

"Harry..."

"Shut up," Harry interrupted coldly, viewing his godfather through lidded eyes. "I know all about you. How did you find out the reason behind my kidnapping? How long did you torture them? And they were just trying to help me. I bet you don't even feel sorry. I bet you didn't even think about them after you left."

"You can't do this, Harry," his godfather started in a pleading tone. "I was just doing my job."

"Then go back to the Ministry," Harry answered calmly, feeling nothing more than disdain now. He raised an eyebrow. "Go back there and stop trying to pretend like you care about me. I'm still here, out of the way. That's all you wanted, isn't it? You can go back and tell the world what a wonderful godfather you are, how you came and personally made sure I was fine, how you did your duty. I don't care anymore."

He had almost forgotten about Leo until Sirius quietly said, "If that's what you want, Harry. I'll leave." There was a defeated tone in his voice, but Harry knew it was probably just an act, a last effort to make him give in. "I'll be back in a few days, but I won't try to bother you."

Harry turned around, forehead wrinkled. "Why?"

"Leo wants... Leo wants to come here and visit you." Sirius smiled weakly, but it only lasted a moment before disappearing. "I won't bother you, if you don't want me to. But, if you do want to talk..."

"How long is Leo staying?" Harry asked hesitantly, trying not to let Sirius see how much he wanted to see his brother. Talk of Leo brought about a new light in the conversation.

Sirius shrugged with a bitter expression on his face. "As long as he wants."

"And you'll be staying with him?"

"Some of the time. Remus will be coming as well."

Harry shrugged back. "Whatever. I won't let myself get kidnapped again before you come, if that's what you need to hear." Sirius had a flash of pain run across his face, there and then gone. Harry leveled a hard look at him, willing himself not to care. "Is there anything else."

"No. There's not." Sirius stared at him a moment, then slowly turned. "Goodbye, Harry."

Harry tilted his head and watched his godfather leave, waiting until the door shut behind him. Then he felt a slow burn start in his head. "Well," he said aloud, very slowly, "it's... it's a good thing I had some warning about this."

Except he hadn't had any warning, and he was still very angry...

"You _idiot_," breathed Ginny darkly, hands clenching into small fists. "You absolute idiot."

Malfoy smirked at her over his cup of steaming tea, but it was ruined by the haggardly way he looked; he was just as tired as she was, and just as unable to sleep. Both of them wanted to do nothing more than run up to Harry's room and put an ear to the door, but Ginny wasn't going to do anything like that while Malfoy was around. And she wasn't going to let him try anything like that, either. Her job, currently, was to make sure Malfoy didn't leave the room.

"As interesting as it is to hear you say that, and have it not directed at me," the Slytherin began smoothly, the drink having cleared up whatever had been wrong with his voice, "it's also maddening."

She was tired and her thinking a little foggy, so she reacted almost violently to Malfoy's words. Thrusting an arm in the general direction of Harry's room, she hollowly said, "The _Prophet_ just said something about Leonard today, how he planned on disappearing somewhere. I should have realized he was coming here to visit Harry."

Ginny looked up in time to see Malfoy's frown. "Why is that?" he asked, sipping at his tea. "You're not even marginally intelligent, Weasley. I doubt you'll figure out any mystery in your time."

Her glare was ineffective as he was too busy closing his eyes to notice. "Well, I just hope you're happy," replied Ginny bitterly. "Leonard's going to come here and ruin everything I've done for Harry."

Malfoy had leaned his head back against the supporting cushions of his couch, eyes closed and hands steadily holding the cup of tea. For a moment, Ginny felt a stab of envy born from her tiredness. She only wanted to go to sleep...

Without opening his eyes, the Slytherins suddenly said, "Two points, Weasley. One: Potter is not your pet project-"

"Oh, that's right," she interrupted with a gush of sarcasm, "he's _yours_."

He smirked, peeking an eye open. "And they told me Weasleys can't learn." She rolled her eyes. "But again: Potter's not some hobby you can pick up. Despite all your funny little beliefs, you've not molded him or taught him or whatever else you think you've done. He's not going to listen to you. He's not going to let you 'guide' him like he's still a child. You've basically done nothing for Potter and you'll never do anything for Potter. So stop whining.

"And two:" he let his head lay back against the cushions, "why so worried about a family reunion? You seem more worried about little Leonard than about Black. Personally, _he_ should be you're number one concern... if you're so upset over Potter in the first place."

"Are you finished?" Ginny asked with feigned politeness. She glared at his mocking gesture to speak. "Well, I should just say that you're completely wrong about Harry. If you knew half the things I did about Harry and his brother, you'd be like me in wishing he never shows up."

"Half the things?" Draco snorted, closed eyes crinkling in scorn. "Weasley, I know more about Potter than you'll ever be privy to." He yawned before continuing. "I know for a fact that this quest of yours, trying to make Potter into something he's not, is infuriating not only to me but to _him_-"

"I already knew that," Ginny interrupted, but her voice was trembled a bit. She was biting the inside of her cheek. "I know that he hates being here, that he only wants to go back home to Leonard--but I know that it's not good for him!"

Grunting, Draco crossed his arms over his chest. "At least we agree on that point," he admitted reluctantly.

Getting her glare back, Ginny continued. "I know that Harry doesn't like to be the center of attention, that he doesn't like getting noticed at all. He only wants to live for his brother, he's completely obsessed with Leonard." She yawned, too, and the last words out of her mouth had been spoken with a weary slowness.

"You make that sound like a bad thing," Draco commented dryly, "which is surprising, coming from you with your family history. I thought all the light wizards worshiped Leonard Potter."

"I...also know that Ron knows more about Harry than you do," Ginny informed him snidely, but her voice sounded like she was fighting to just get them out. "In fact...Ron met Harry...before either of us did and... and..."

"And?" Draco prompted, curious despite himself. She didn't react at all. "Hey, Weasley."

Draco slowly sat up and was amused for his trouble. It seemed that poor, young Miss Weasley had fallen asleep mid sentence. He smirked tiredly, the expression fighting to stay on his face.

He meant to do something about it, really. No one fell asleep talking to a Malfoy unless the Malfoy wanted them to. But somewhere between putting his cold drink aside and shifting to get comfortable, Draco blinked a little too long. His head rolled back onto the cushions and he fell asleep.

"Get up."

Rough hands jerked at his robes, pulling him up a bit before letting him drop back into his chair. Draco blinked his eyes open slowly, mind unwilling to fully let go of his good dreams. "Wha..."

Green eyes, narrowed in unleashed anger, burned into his face. "I said get up."

"Get your hands off me, Potter," Draco snapped, instantly alert. He swatted at said hands then took a moment to rearrange his clothing. A quick look around the room showed that it was barely dawn from the light coming through the window, showed that he had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for Potter to come out, and showed that Potter was now angry as a bull over something or other.

And, truthfully, that last part was really quite frightening.

Eyes blazing and face pale, looking like he hadn't slept the night before and like he'd never sleep again, Potter stood only at arm's length. His fists were clenched and held stiff at his sides, as though he were forcibly holding back from lashing out with him, and his face was thoroughly blank of any expression or emotion. Draco stopped and stared for a moment, startled. He'd seen this lack of expression directed at the Gryffindors, but to have it directed at himself was a whole different matter.

Aside from purely physical indications, Potter was giving off a near scent of anger. The very air seemed electrified with it. His body was screaming the emotion, drying Draco's mouth and hurrying his heartbeats. Sleepiness was gone instantly.

"What is it?" he asked after a long moment, swallowing and hoping Potter couldn't guess just how intimidating he looked. He put on a bored expression. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it's not enough to excuse you for such a rude awakening-"

Harry glared at Draco, eyes narrowed to green slits that were darkened with some hateful emotion. The look alone made Draco shut up. "That's all you ever seem to think about, isn't it?" the boy began darkly, slowly crossing his arms over his chest. "What you want. But I have a question for you: what happened to our contract?"

"Excuse me?" Draco blinked. "I don't recall having made a contract-"

"I answered all your questions," the Gryffindor continued hatefully. "I've been completely honest. But what about you? What happened to finding out about my brother? Why didn't I know about this?" And he kicked a foot towards the chair, hard enough to send a jolt through the furniture and shove it back against the wall.

Draco sat up quickly, standing from the chair and hoping Potter wouldn't decide to just take another swing--this time at a warm body. "Is that what this is all about?" he asked slowly.

Potter turned and paced across the room. When he came back, he glared. "Of course. Do you know what I've spent the last hour doing? Talking to my _godfather_ about my brother's plans to come _here_ for a week. I had to hear about it from him."

He rubbed at his eyes, quietly murmuring, "I was a fool for believing you. For believing anyone."

Draco tilted his head towards one side. This new turn was not good. "My sources will need some more time to break into your house," he announced, swallowing again when Potter looked up at him. His voice picked up speed, trying to sound completely believable. "Aside from the multitude of Ministry protections laid onto the foundations, Dumbledore has added his own wards. If you want only a single report, garbled because there was only time enough to quickly jump into the house, take a look around and then get away, tell me now. I had _thought _you wanted a system in place, which will be ready in a week or two."

Harry glared at the boy for a moment longer. "Why should I believe you now? Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Draco sneered. "Well, for starters, I think I should be the one doubting you. How do I know you've been telling me the truth? If you can't believe me on my word, why should I believe you?"

"That's not an answer-"

"I gave my word," Draco interrupted loudly, taking his turn to glare. He let his body tense, let himself look the picture of insulted pride. "A Malfoy's word is enough. I thought you knew that. I also thought that you'd be able to figure out for yourself why it was taking so long. You yourself know about all the protections on your house. _No one_ could just waltz in there."

Draco shook his head in indignation. "This," he continued, waving a hand to include everything, "this is an enormous insult to me. Do you have any idea... My family is known for keeping their word, and for you to say you can't trust that... My parents wouldn't understand it."

"Leave them out of this-"

"They're in it already," Draco snarled back, thinking quickly. "Isn't that what you meant, when you said you couldn't trust anyone? Do you know how much trust it's taken for them to let you back into their home? You lived with an Auror, for Merlin's sake. Who knows what you've spent the last five years doing, what you've told them?"

Potter's face went pale, and Draco let out a low sigh.

He added, "I just thought that you should know, before you decided on who your real friends are, that I've seen my parents the last five years. They worried about you, even if they could hardly approach you, but they never thought you'd do anything to betray them. This is how you repay them, is it?"

The Gryffindor looked absolutely torn, and Draco couldn't have been more relieved. All the anger had been abandoned, leaving behind just a lonely teenager who had no idea what to think anymore. Potter's eyes drifted close and his body trembled slightly. With a gentle hand, Draco forced the boy to take a seat.

"I just thought," Potter murmured, "for a moment that you hadn't done anything." His eyes opened, bright green colors wallowing in misery. "I'm sorry."

Draco swallowed, struggling keeping his breathing normal. "I did agree to." He looked around, escaping eye contact. "What time is it, anyway?"

Potter shrugged limply, looking like a chastised child ready to undergo any punishment to make up for his wrong. "It was two when Sirius left. It might be half after by now."

"Black isn't the only one you need to worry about." Draco gestured to the Weasley girl, who was still asleep on the couch across the floor. "Weasley there is sounding as if she's becoming an expert on you."

The Gryffindor nodded silently, head slightly bowed. This must have been the boy his parents knew, one willing to do anything for a little friendship.

"Get some sleep, Potter," Draco ordered roughly, leaving the room and leaving the teen behind.

He nearly ran to his own rooms, heart racing and blood singing in his ear. Before he'd taken even a single step towards the bed, Draco summoned a quill and some parchment. The quill came flying like a dart. He scribbled out a quick note then looked around. "Elf! House-elf! I know you can hear me!"

Draco waved the parchment around, turning all directions in the room. "Take this to an owl and have it sent to the Malfoy Manor--immediately!" He put the message down, turning around the room one more time. There was a popping noise behind him but by the time he's spun to meet it, both the house-elf and the note were gone.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione smiled brightly, but in her head she could hear the echoes of his conversation with his godfather the night before. She pushed those thoughts out of her head and made sure her smile was just as bright. "Harry, how would you like to come out on a picnic with us?"

She gestured to the basked of food sitting on the table, hoping that he'd say yes.

Ron shook his head. "No," he said slowly, "no, that just doesn't sound enthusiastic enough. Come on, Hermione, say it with some spirit this time!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You know, Ron, it's getting difficult."

"What is?"

"Keeping myself from smacking you with this basket."

Ron grinned widely at her. "You seem to be doing a fair job of it, though, as my head isn't hurting."

Hermione smirked, then sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Do we really have to _practice_?" she asked. "I mean, it's just a question. Harry will either say yes or no-"

"The way you ask," Ron cautioned, "might decide that."

"He'll say yes or no because he'll decide what he wants," Hermione decided firmly, "not because of how I frame the question."

"Good morning," Ginny announced, stepping into the kitchen. She looked as if she'd slept badly, Hermione thought, gazing at the girl's wrinkled robes and dazed expression.

Ron laughed out loud. "Morning, Ginny," he returned, still grinning. "But I'm thinking that you're not making it any better, walking around like that."

His little sister frowned severely at him. "Shut up. While you two were eavesdropping on Harry last night, I was making sure Malfoy didn't get in the way." Her expression softened. "By the way, exactly what did you hear?"

'Nothing good,' Hermione answered silently, trying to keep her expression light. Aloud, she replied, "A few things."

"Like the fact that Harry truly, honestly, and with every bit of his soul, hates his godfather," added Ron sarcastically.

"I thought we guessed that," Ginny started.

Hermione shook her head. "They were angry at each other that night," she remarked, remembering the night that they'd stumbled over godfather and godson, when Harry had run off angrily. "But last night was much worse than that."

"Seriously, Ginny, they don't like each other."

The Weasley girl smiled sadly. "Maybe it's just another fight," she tried. "Every family has huge fights every once in a while."

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances.

The night before had been too great a temptation: seeing Sirius Black waiting his godson, seeing his dark expression, the three of them had pulled back to wait for Harry to come back. Black had stayed in his godson's room, giving the students ample opportunity to plot their spying scheme. When they saw Harry and Malfoy approaching, Ginny stayed behind while Hermione and Ron had ran ahead, getting in place to hear every word spoken.

"Harry..."

"What are you doing here?"

"Whatever it is," Ron was saying, "the two have a few issues to work out." He quickly related how the conversation had gone, sharing Ginny's dark look at the end of it.

"And so, Black will be here in a few days?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yes." Hermione cleared her throat, then smiled brightly. "But I think we should worry things we can manage for now. We can't very well mend Harry's home life, even though I doubt it's very healthy. We can help him with his school life." She pointed to the picnic basket. "What do you think?"

Ginny looked uncertain. "What exactly did you pack?" she asked. "No more of those poisonous sandwiches, I hope."

Laughing, Hermione shook her head. "No, they're all gone. I fed them to Ron this morning."

"Hey!"

"That's good news!"

Hermione patted the basket. "I actually just left a note for the house-elves last night. They worked pretty fast, and now we have an excellent lunch ready for us. We just need to wait for Harry to get back."

"He left?" Ginny looked stricken. "Where? Did either of you talk with him?"

"And say what?" Ron asked, frowning at her. "Just go up and say, 'Hey, Harry. We just listened in to your conversation last night, and personally we think you're a little hotheaded with that godfather of yours.' That'll go down well, don't you think."

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek guiltily. "No, we better make sure he never finds out about that. I don't think he'd trust us if he did."

The look Ron gave her said it all. 'Do you think he should trust us now?'

"We only did what we thought was best," the witch objected nervously.

"Why don't we go and find him?" Ginny suggested. "And, no, Ron, we won't go and tell him how we eavesdropped on him and his godfather. But we need to ask him about this picnic idea sooner or later, and he might not plan on coming back here for a long time."

The three started out, Ron lugging about the picnic basket and shutting the door to the apartment. He paused for a moment. "You know, I was just thinking. What about Malfoy?"

"Malfoy?" Ginny's eyes widening and she gave her brother a searching look. "You want to invite Malfoy along with us?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "_No_, Ginny, I don't. But do you think Harry's going to come along without the prat?"

It was a cool morning, crisp and clear. A few clouds marred the perfect sky, looking like someone had scrubbed away the blue in long streaks. There were many other students out and about, a few even walking around with picnic baskets as well. Those laughed and waved back to Ron, pointing to their own packed lunches as if the coincidence was really so humorous.

The Great Halls' doors were flung open, letting in the cool air, and Hermione peeked in as they got close enough but she didn't see Harry anywhere. Even when Ginny ran up the stairs, looking into the library, they didn't find the missing Gryffindor.

"Maybe he already went into the gardens," said Ginny with a helpless shrug. "Maybe he knew we were coming."

"This is Harry we're talking about," Ron pointed out with a little edge of irritation, "not some psychic, Ginny." He heaved the basket over to his other hand, complaining loudly about its weight. When he saw Hermione roll her eyes, he gave her a hard look and thrust the basket out. "You carry it, then," he challenged.

Hermione, to his surprise, merely picked the basket up, grunting a little when she realized just how heavy it was. "You're so silly, Ron," she muttered, wand out and performing a lightening charm. The basket practically floated up after that, and with a smug look she handed it back. "Can you handle it now? Or is it still too much for you."

"I meant to do that," Ron declared firmly, the ends of his ears burning up even as he held his head tall. "I didn't want to have to rely on magic to carry around something like a basket. We have to depend on ourselves sometime or other, you realize."

"Hey, look at that," Ginny pointed out.

At first, Hermione had no idea what she was talking about.

There were only students walking around in the direction she pointed at, going to and from their own dormitories, talking and laughing. An Auror stood out; a professor walked by. She gave Ginny a questioning look.

"There. Look at those two," Ginny specified, indicating two students out of the many dozens. The students in particular were looked older, and Hermione assumed that they had to be champions to be so noticed. "They've been walking by and watching us. I didn't think so at first, but it's like they're always there."

"Who are they?" Ron asked, watching the two with open suspicion.

Across the way, the two students looked back, leaning in towards each other to have a whispered conversation. The first was a tall, dark boy and the second a girl, just as tall, with long black hair and Hispanic origin. The boy sent Hermione an angry look.

"Whoever they are," she answered slowly, "they don't look friendly."

Ron glared. "I'm not going to just put up with it," he declared. "If they want to look at us like that-"

"Ron, don't!" Ginny lunged for his robe sleeve but he merely yanked it out of her hands and stormed off in the direction of the two.

The boy watched, surprise registering on his face, and Ron stomped right up to him. "Do you have a problem?" he asked loudly, ignoring Hermione's groans in the background as the two girls caught up with him.

The foreign student shook his head mutely. His friend rolled her eyes, tugging on his robes to turn away.

Ron kept his glare up. "If you don't, then why are you looking at us like that?"

"Lookin' at you like what?" the stranger demanded, pulling his own sleeve free of his friend's hand. She sighed, looking resigned to settle whatever hand fate dealt. The boy leaned forward into Ron's face. "What? I am not free to look how'ver I want to?"

"Felix," the girl muttered darkly, "knock it off."

"No, Adele, I will not 'knock it off,'" Felix replied angrily, narrowing his dark eyes. "We all know what happened, all of us champions. This Harry Potter is set as the first champion above us simply because he was _kidnapped_! He did nothing to deserve it--he did not even stay for the ceremony to hear how he is the first champion."

He jabbed a finger towards Ron. "And now his friends wander around the school, mocking us."

"We're not doing anything," Ginny said, eyebrows raised. "Certainly not 'mocking' you."

Felix glared at her. "You think that just because you come from Hogwarts, that just because you come from the oldest school, that you are better than we. But Hogwarts is nothing anymore. An old ruined castle with bad teachers and worse classes. Hogwarts is outdated. You are not better than we are anymore."

"Enough," Adele, his friend, suddenly cut in, grabbing his arm and pulling him aside. "You will say no more. It is an insult to hear you speak."

Felix turned around even as he was dragged away, glaring at the Hogwarts students. His expression turned nasty. "You warn your Harry Potter. Warn him that we know he does not deserve to be in this tournament, that we know he only steals his power from his brother. Warn him that we will not allow him to stay the first champion for long."

As it turned out, though, they didn't need to tell Harry anything. Just as the two champions were dragging and getting dragged away, all of them noticed Harry just approaching the Great Hall.

"Great," Hermione muttered under her breath, taking a single step forward before realizing it was too late. The boy, Felix, had ripped himself free of his friend and had made a beeline for Harry, stopping to begin his rant. Harry's expression, even from the distance, looked distinctly bewildered. "Come on," she said, charging forward.

"You were _given_ the antidote," Felix was nearly screaming into Harry's face when they got into hearing distance. "It is not fair-"

"Felix, that is enough," the girl announced sharply, voice edged. "You do no good here-"

"Let me alone, Adele," Felix snarled, pushing her back. "Let me alone. You know how we feel--every champion feels that this is not right! You even agree. I say he is to know."

"You are making yourself into a fool," the girl hissed, straightening her hair. She gazed coolly around; a small crowd had gathered around the pair, watching Felix's ravings and Harry's reaction. She raised her head. "This is no sport. There is nothing to see here. Leave at once."

Felix had started up his grumbling again, lower now to carry to Harry's ears alone.

Ron set down his basket. "Knock it off," he yelled out at the other champion. "Leave Harry alone."

Hermione nodded once. "You better," she warned, "for your own sake." Ginny, standing behind her, crossed her arms over her chest threateningly. The boy Felix, however, took no notice of them.

And Harry took no notice of him. From the crowd, his eyes locked onto one girl's, and he took an uncertain step towards her. "You're better," he called out, confusing Felix into silence. "I was worried that you wouldn't take the antidote."

"Who is he talking to?"

"Her, I think."

"Oh," Ginny started, recognizing her. She turned to Ron. "Isn't she the girl that Harry took to the hospital wing?"

His brother shrugged. "Maybe. I'm not really good with faces, though."

The girl smiled brightly at Harry, stepping forward to meet him. "Yea, Ah'm all betta noah. Ya shuda seen me tho--t'weren't a pretty sight." She laughed merrily, slinging an arm over Harry's shoulder and dragging him into a huge hug. "It's actually a pretty good thang you came along when ya did. Heard Ah was on me last rung. But no worries, it t'weren't but three of us tha' diden take yer potion."

Harry blinked, slowly understanding. "Only three didn't take the antidote?"

She laughed again. "'O' do ya think's still in tha sick bed? Ain't none other than tha Szepsi girl, and her two lads. And aren't they tha ones tha' woulda had us all believin' tha' you weren't but tryin' ta give us more poison?" She shook her head seriously. "Ah say, it ain't none but just tha' they be tha' ones sick noah, and we be the ones well." She patted his shoulder fondly.

"Well, I'm glad," Harry answered slowly, seeming a little tense from all the touches. He pulled away reluctantly. "I'm Harry, by the way. Just in case you didn't know."

"And Ah'm Eachna," the girl answered, holding her hand out and shaking Harry's firmly. "From me homeland o' Aerland, ifen ya can tell."

"Harry!" Hermione called out. She motioned to her two friends. "Come on, let's get him to go out before Malfoy comes around. I bet he's only a minute or two away--and I don't want him to come!" Ron, with a sigh, lifted up his basket of food again, and then the three of them quickly walked over to where Harry was still standing with the Irish girl.

"Lisen, Ah've been wonderin' if ya plan on speakin' with tha rest o' us champs," the girl was saying, her eyebrows lowered dramatically. "Ye ain't but said two words since this whole mess started up, and we've been missing yer company. Eve'one else at least comes to suppa ta talk, but not you."

Harry ran a hand through his hair nervously. "I... I didn't realize that all the champions ate together."

"Sure they do! Almost ev'ry night. This ain't all 'bout tha competition, ya know. Some o' us be thinkin' that it'd be nice to be having a friend or two when we get to leavin'." She smiled at him, eyes flickering curiously up to his scar before settled back on the rest of his face. "And Ah had a thought tha' you'd make a pretty good un at tha'."

"Harry," Hermione cut in. "Harry, we were just looking for you."

Eachna dipped her head a little. "Ah best be goin' then. Ah'll see ya at suppa, yea?"

"Yea..." Harry's forehead wrinkled a little, as though he were just realizing what he'd agreed to. "Dinner..."

"Before you eat dinner, you better eat lunch," Ron advised jokingly. He set the basket down.

Harry looked around him. "Good morning," he greeted slowly, looking surprised to see them three. "I didn't realize you were out here."

"We were actually looking for you," Hermione repeated.

"What's in there?" asked Harry, eyes focused on the basket. He looked up. "And why were you looking for me? I was only gone a minute."

"The two are actually connected," answered Ginny happily, a bright smile on her face. "See, we were looking for you to see if you wanted to go picnicking with us."

"Hence the basket."

"Picnicking?" Harry gave them a blank look. "I'm not sure I've ever done that before."

"What?" Ron looked affronted. "You live in the middle of the woods and you've never gone picnicking?"

"I've gone hiking by myself," came the defensive answer.

Ron shook his head and Ginny added, "I'm sorry, that's just not good enough." She laced her arm around his. "You're just going to have to come with us, then."

"Oh, come on, Harry. It's just the gardens. Nothing frightening in that."

"I said I don't want to go in there," Potter replied stubbornly, standing at the entrance to the gardens with his arms crossed over his chest. He eyed the looming trees and statues, then brusquely added, "I have my reasons."

The two Weasleys sighed together, and Granger placatingly asked, "Then where else can we picnic?"

"I'm not even sure I want to picnic with you anymore. If the next task is any worse than this month's, I'll need to prepare for it."

A dry laugh interrupted the four from their arguing, and Draco smirked at them. To Potter, he said, "That is one of the worst excuses I've ever heard, Potter, and you know it. I doubt you'll ever try to prepare for any task this year." And to the others, he took a step forward to add, "And don't think I haven't realized what you're trying to do. I'm not going to get left behind, though."

"Not for lack of trying," Weasley muttered dryly. His sister elbowed him hard.

Draco walked up to Potter, noticing how tense the other three were. He shot them a smug grin. 'I think that they've caught on,' he noted to himself viciously. 'Potter won't say a word to them, and they've finally noticed."

To rub it in, he gestured for Potter to step away from the others, out of the range of their hearing. The three almost flinched and Draco couldn't hold back his victorious smirk. They started hissing amongst themselves, shooting him terrible looks. Not that it bothered him. Lazily, Draco glanced at Potter ans asked, "Any news? Your Gryffindor friends look more excited than usual."

Again, Potter was looking at him like a friend almost eager to please, and he even smiled slightly. No, smirked. "I'm afraid you missed a few greater events," the Gryffindor informed him in an amused tone. "You missed seeing one of the other champions' long speech about how unfair it is, my being placed above them."

"Being placed?"

Potter shrugged. "I believe that, since I was the first one technically given the antidote as I wasn't ever poisoned to begin with, I received the most points for this task. I'm in the lead, now, and the Portuguese champion wasn't pleased with it at all."

"Pity."

"I'm almost tempted to think that this champion suspects I arranged the kidnapping myself, plotting and gaining the leeway needed to actually make the antidote in the first place."

"That sounds very devious of you," commented Draco with a raised eyebrow. "It _were_ true," he added, smirk growing, "I'd have to say you were practically Slytherin. Except, of course, for the part where you returned with antidote for everyone."

Harry sighed, shaking his head again, the smile growing. "I remember you saying not to do that," he admitted as they started walking towards the others, "but imagine how much worse it would be if I really was the only healthy champion today? Nothing I could say _then _would make anyone believe me innocent."

"I see you finished you little talk," Granger greeted them coldly. "Something secret, was it? Or else why would you have to walk so far away?"

Draco sneered at her, and a thought suddenly occurred to him. Quickly, he glanced towards Potter, gauging his expression, and then slowly replied to the witch, "Of course we had to walk away. Not that we had anything secret to say--Potter was just telling me about those other champions--but, simply put, I just don't feel safe around you three anymore."

Weasley rolled his eyes, just as Draco had hoped he would, and loudly answered, "That hurts us, Malfoy, almost. After all, we only spent the last four years hating each other-"

"Exactly." Malfoy glanced over to Potter again, then focused his eyes on Granger. "You see, I was thinking last night about exactly how risky our current positions are. I would never admit anything to an Auror--it's my own family who is in danger. And my family trusts Potter implicitly, so _he _is no worry." Slyly, he made sure Potter was paying complete attention as he finished, "But we four, we've never really got along at Hogwarts. And you, Weasley, you always used to say how you'd use anything to get back at me."

"Just spit it out, Malfoy," Potter interrupted, surprisingly. He was looking at the three in disbelief, but there was a little fear being realized...

Draco only smirked more at the outburst. "Well, I've only just realized how badly my family could come out, if these Gryffindors went spilling to the Ministry---and they are all connected with the Ministry. I'm not sure they won't just run off to the next Auror they see. I have no reason to believe that they won't."

Potter stiffened, head slowly rising to meet Draco's eyes. He looked almost pleading, as though he were asking Draco to stop. He asked, voice curious and soft, "Do you think they would do that?" He didn't want Draco to say anything more, but Draco had no intention of stopping. Not until those three realized that they couldn't do anything. Not until they realized that they had better stop.

He had wandered around all morning looking for Potter, just as he had the night before. It was getting infuriating, worse when he found the teen in the company of these three Gryffindors. 'He's not yours,' Draco wanted to sneer at them. 'He belongs to my father, now, and you can't change that.' And now they would realize that.

The Slytherin seemed to think the question over, thoughtfully placing chin in his hand. There was, however, some dark amusement in his eyes as he said, "Of course they would. To them, it would be the..._right_ thing to do. I'm actually surprised they haven't run off already--even if you're a friend," and he spat out the word, "they hardly owe me anything. They'd run off to the proper authorities on principle of snubbing a Malfoy."

"Well," Granger started indignantly, tossing her head. Weasley looked speechless, probably with the fact that he _couldn't_ run off like Draco said--no matter how much he now wanted to, just to get back at the Slytherin--because it would be a strike against Harry as well.

The other Weasley rolled her eyes. "If you were so curious about that, Malfoy, you could have just asked us what we were going to do instead of making up some elaborate lie. Harry, do you honestly think we'd tell anyone else if we hadn't already."

"You might be waiting for the right moment," Draco suggested nastily, sneering. His eyes darted quickly over to Harry and what he saw only made that sneer widen. Everything, of course, was working just the way he wanted it to. She tried to look at Harry the same way, but his expression was closed to her. "You can't go tattling off when either of us are around, can you?"

"It's just silly," she tried.

Draco turned to look at her, eyes lidded lazily. "Yes," he drawled, "you'd like us to believe that, wouldn't you? Don't imagine for one second that you have us unaware."

He stopped to run a hand through his hair. The condescending look he sent their way had nothing whatsoever to do with his height. In a familiar way, Draco heavily set his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Come on, _Harry_," he suggested, drawing out Potter's name. He smirked. "We don't have to put up with this anymore."

"There's nothing to put up with!" the girl Weasley started. Her brother was beside her, glaring holes into the Slytherin's face. Granger, however, shushed them with a serious, understanding expression that made them both shut up.

Potter, green eyes glinting dangerously, gave the three a quick look-over before taking a step back. "It's true, isn't it?" he asked hesitantly, swallowing loudly. His eyes dropped onto Draco's, searching for something, than returned to the three standing before him. "I can't believe this..." He shook his head and then turned around, walking away.

Draco stayed where he was, staring at Granger with the smirk still on his face.

When Harry was a distance away, the Slytherin reached into his pocket. "Here," he offered smugly, dropping a piece of paper to the ground. "Be prepared, at least, for what's coming. Not that you'll be able to do anything about it."

Ginny stayed quiet only because of the vicious glance Hermione sent her way, and managed to hold her tongue until both boys had left the immediate area. She was about to speak when Ron bit out, "What the devil was that all about, Hermione?" He looked furious, face red and angry. He jabbed sharply towards the direction of the two. "Really, what was it all about? I'd like to know why Malfoy got away with-"

"If you had contradicted him," Hermione cut in smoothly, carelessly coming her fingers through her hair, "you would have only helped him. Weren't you watching Harry at all. Every time you denied something, Harry only looked more and more lost."

"Harry didn't look lost to me," Ginny muttered darkly, folding her arms onto the table and glaring resentfully at the plate of food in front of her. "He looked suspicious."

Hermione smiled sadly. "...exactly. He didn't know what to think. Malfoy knows a bit about Harry right now, that's obvious, but we know our own share now. Malfoy's using what he knows against us. We have to do the same against him."

"That sounds... wrong," said Ron, dumbly. He blinked. "We are talking about Harry, aren't we? Not some animal or object."

"Do you remember what you saw?" Hermione asked bluntly. "Only bits--but Harry grew up with Death Eaters. They were teaching him spells! You said you saw him from when he was a little boy to maybe right up to the day his parents died. Draco Malfoy's father was a Death Eater. Their family has been manipulating Harry since he was practically born. We need to get Harry out of that situation, but in Harry's current state, we can't just..." She trailed off with a furious hand gesture.

Ginny reluctantly laced her fingers together, staring after the direction Harry had gone. "We need to manipulate Harry to get him away from manipulation," she rephrased.

Ron, meanwhile, had leaned down and picked up the forgotten paper Malfoy had trashed. "What's this?" he murmured, unfolding the note. The girls continued their chatting, starting to plan how to save the day's ruined plans, and when Ron tried to show them the dropped letter they only ignored him.

"Fine," he said, though they didn't hear, and he started to read:

'Saturday. Bring him. They want to meet. Lestrange.'

He tried to read it over and over again, but none of the words changed. Rolling his eyes, Ron slipped the parchment into his pocket. "So much for the warning, Malfoy," he muttered darkly. "Even if it is, it makes no sense whatsoever."

"Ron, are you listening?"

He looked up to see both girls staring at him with identical, impatient expressions. With a careless grin, he shrugged. "Maybe," answered Ron, "maybe not. Why? Something important?"

Ginny motioned to the forgotten basket of food. "We're going after them," she announced gravely, "and we're going to do whatever Harry wants us to do as long as it gets him to just stay with us awhile."

Ron groaned as he picked the picnic basket up. "You do realize," he stated as they hurriedly started after the vanished Potter, "that whatever Harry wants will probably be whatever Malfoy wants."

"It doesn't matter right now," Hermione replied determinedly. Her eyes were fixed ahead. "What matters right now is that we get Harry to trust us. No matter what." Her nose wrinkled. "Even if that means doing what Malfoy wants."

"Just think of it this way:" Ginny volunteered cheerfully, "we can pretend that we're paying Malfoy back for letting us come to his house--which we'll have to do eventually. If we get that out of the way now, we won't have to worry about it in the future. So, if Malfoy gets Harry to make us do something, we're getting two tasks done in one go."

"Easy for you to say."

"Come on, Ron." His little sister made a show of exasperation. "What else can we do?"

"It's not like you have anything better to suggest," Hermione pointed out.

Ron smirked at them. "I didn't say I wouldn't follow your plan, Hermione," he replied in a whiny tone. "I will. I just won't like it."

"That goes for the three of us."

Five weeks into the new school year, and the colors of the trees were beginning to fade. Only a few, and only just slowly, but fall was coming.

The four Gryffindors and single Slytherin of Hogwarts trudged down through the forest grounds. Hermione, the leader of the exploration, halted, slightly out of breath, to push some wavy brown hair from her eyes. Ron stretched his shoulders and looked around. "There's nothing like this at Hogwarts."

They stood in the middle of the forest that surrounded the school, going up on an incline towards the hilltops. Trees shook in the high breeze, their leaves making odd music and shading the students from the sun above.

Ginny nodded, walking up to sit beside Hermione. The fifth year smiled at her, then looked up to Ron to say, "And they don't let us into the Forbidden Forest, so if there was anything like this, we wouldn't know." Talking of how the Forbidden Forest back at Hogwarts was literally forbidden only reminded her that this forest, also, was forbidden, that she was breaking school rule doing this thing. 'But it was the only way to get Harry out here...'

She looked back to the group's stragglers, the ones that had decided on this outing through the forbidden grounds. And, she knew, Malfoy had only wanted to come out here because he thought that they'd refuse. "Do you know how long we've been out here?"

Harry shook his head, and Malfoy didn't even reply. Shrugging, Hermione stood up again, stretching like Ron had, and began going up the trail again with Ron and Ginny right beside her. "When I was little, my family used to take long hiking trips," she said, voice getting fainter as the three moved on ahead, not noticing the two teens that lagged purposely behind. "We used to leave on Friday and not come back until Monday..."

"My father wrote me," Draco informed Harry once they were out of ear reach. Harry's green eyes flickered to the Slytherin, but otherwise he showed no indication of hearing the teen. Draco continued, "He says that there is problems at the Ministry concerning your brother. They actually started awhile ago, at some press conference they held-"

Harry missed a step and nearly stumbled. "What about my brother?" he demanded, looking up at Draco.

"He is telling reporters that the only reason you'll succeed at the tournament is because he's helping you." Draco pushed some blond strands away from his cold gray eyes, and glanced quickly to Harry. "Some of the other countries have protested, taking him seriously. They'll be reading your owls, next."

Harry frowned, but was more resigned than concerned. "It doesn't matter. I've decided to stop sending letters after today." His eyes narrowed slightly, looking up through the leaves to the sun above, and he swallowed. The lack of response from his brother had saddened him more than he wanted Draco to know.

"Harry! Malfoy! Are you coming?" Hermione yelled, and they looked up to see the three far ahead. Harry raised a hand to wave at them, then looked back at Draco.

"Was that it?"

The blond teen shook his head. "My father also asked to tell you that some of the other Death Eaters would like to meet you. Just to make sure that you aren't some Ministry spy."

"They don't trust me?" Without waiting for an answer, Harry said, "If it can be arranged, then I'll meet with them." He blanched. "Sirius use to tell me stories of spies who helped the Ministry and who landed many Death Eaters into Azkaban. I can understand their suspicion of me."

Talking about Sirius reminded Harry about the years he spent in the care of the man, of the Auror. He could almost shudder with disgust. Ten years under the teaching of his mentors, and he still allowed himself to come into contact with such evils. Well, now he wouldn't have to put up with it any longer. All he needed to do now was to help return the Death Eaters to their former glory... and get Leo away from the murderer.

The two caught up with the others, and they tromped along as a single group through the forest, Hermione giving out bits of information from her hiking days and Ron adding something he'd learned living so close to a forest of his own.

"There was this one time when Fred and George took us out on this 'picnic.' You remember, don't you Ginny?"

Ginny nodded. "They took us to the middle of the woods and left us there! I thought I was going to get eaten by a werewolf."

"What about you, Harry?" Ron asked, looking back to the dark headed Gryffindor. "You said you hiked a lot where you live. I'd guess that you like the forest better than the city."

Harry unwillingly nodded, and to Ron's prompting said, "I've almost always lived away from big cities."

Malfoy shifted behind him, and Harry resisted the urge to look back at the Slytherin. Even so light a reference to his life living with his parents was clouded with the subject of Death Eaters, and Harry was certain the blond knew all about his parents' erratic moving habits.

Hermione smiled. It seemed she was trying her best to start this friendship. Harry had been most surprised when she agreed to come with him on this illegal romp through the woods. "I envy you that. My parents moved into London when I was eight to start a dental business, so we hardly gone out to the forests now. Whenever we do go out, it's to a mall or movie." She paused thoughtfully. "Although we do take a few trips out of the country now and then."

"We're always outside," Ginny confided as they hiked further along. "If not playing Quidditch, then just playing or swimming. Plus there's always the yard work to be done."

"De-gnoming the garden," Ron added with a chuckle. He flexed his hand muscles. "It's always a contest to see who can throw the creatures the farthest." At Hermione's gasp of indignation, Ron blushed and hurriedly said, "Of course, the gnomes don't get hurt or anything. They probably have a good time. Who wouldn't?" Hermione rewarded his efforts with a scandalous look, and Ron tried to save himself by changing the subject. "What about you, Malfoy? You ever spend time outside, or are you too busy cleaning the family dungeons?"

"Ron!" Hermione squeaked, cheeks reddening.

Draco casually responded, "Forgotten so soon? My family's manor alone could encompass the little shack of a home you Weasleys squeeze into, never mind the grounds and the dungeons. But, yes, I spend my fair share of time outside." He smiled insinuatingly at Ron. "I have to train the dragons, and of course there's Quidditch practice with my tutor."

"Why you..." Ron's face had gone as red as his hair.

"Let's stop here a moment," Hermione suggested a little stiffly. She pointed to a clearing to the side, soft grass looking a tempting place to rest. "It's about time for lunch, don't you think?" Without waiting for an answer, she set out for the clearing and pulled from her robes the shrunken picnic basket. Ron glared at Draco, then reluctantly joined Hermione, muttering all sorts of things under his breath.

"I don't think you have to be so suspicious of them anymore," Harry softly told the satisfied Draco. "They've agreed to come with us, haven't they? And to avoid Aurors, and any other terms we can think of to prove their trustworthiness."

Draco fixed him with a look. "Is that supposed to mean anything?" he drawled, raising an eyebrow. Harry stared back until Draco added, "Really, Potter, I'd have thought better of you then to consort with Weasleys, but if you insist." He seemed to shrug his shoulders, then walked towards the clearing as well, choosing a spot as far away from Ron as possible.

Ginny made a noise in her throat, sighing with relief when Draco left, saying something about taking a short walk around the area. "Thank goodness," she muttered darkly. "I thought they were going to have at it, probably would have if Hermione hadn't stopped them." Harry didn't respond, and she looked at him. "Are you coming to eat?"

He met her eyes a brief second, then looked away. "In awhile," he promised. "I'm not very hungry."

"Just because you're not hungry now doesn't mean you won't be," the youngest Weasley promised. "I've spent enough time in the woods to know that you should eat at regular times if you don't want to suffer." She waited a bit longer than shrugged, turning for the clearing. "Suit yourself." When she reached the others, Hermione asked her a question, and the redhead shrugged, motioning to where Harry was still standing.

He wandered along the path a few minutes, eyes down on the trail, wanting to just feel some solitude. The month had been too fast-paced for him to keep comfortable, and now it seemed as though his privacy was going to be permanently invaded, whether by friends or foes.

'As if I can tell them apart anymore,' he thought to himself bitterly, kicking at a rock. First, confusing Draco as a liar and then having the other three confused as enemies as well. He kicked at another rock. 'You're messed up, Potter. You need to get straightened up.'

He'd been walking some time before he saw them:

Two creatures out of legend, it seemed, playing across the clouds of the sky. He could only just make out their forms through the leaves, and hurriedly rushed out to where the trees thinned so he could see them uncensored. And it turned out to be more than he expected.

The skies were alive with a host of creatures. Flying, diving with more skill than humans could hope for, the beasts roared fits of laughter at the great chase. Griffins, eagle wings spread out and lion body clawing the clouds.

Harry pushed away a tree limb in disbelief as the host settled down, closing their wings to fly onto a smooth valley where two hills connected. Their barking laughs still called up to the sky where the center of the chase continued.

Flying through the sunlit clouds was a bird greater than any bird could hope to be. Its tail alight with fire, the phoenix gracefully soared the heavens. At the end of that tail was a creature no less magnificent: a gryphon, king of the griffins with the full body of a lion and wings that looked stripped from an angel.

His breath caught in his throat. The griffins, their eagle heads sharply watching the chase, didn't notice him at the edge of the trees. Some had even laid down for a nap while others bit at each other, starting friendly competitions among the king's escort.

The phoenix dove suddenly from the sky like a meteor, startling the griffins into nervous chirps, but it landed softly on the ground in their midst. Seconds later, the gryphon also settled down, content with a rest before resuming the chase. It licked its massive paws, paws large enough to swat Harry down with no effort whatsoever, stretching out like an overgrown kitten in the sun. The phoenix let out a short whistle of melody, wrappings its feathers around its body like a fiery blanket.

The griffins respectfully drew to a pause, some leaving and coming back with branches of fruit that they placed before the might phoenix, and others leaving--presumably to find some other food better fitting the griffin king.

Harry crawled back into the trees when one griffin headed his way, his heart pounding in his chest. The creature's head was almost as tall as Harry, and compared to the gryphon it was a shrimp.

The griffin wandered closer and closer, but then gave up its search and bounded back towards its king just as another griffin brought out a snack-sized animal for the gryphon's hunger.

Harry swallowed and backed away further, backtracking his way down the trail. He hadn't realized he'd gone so far.

Just when he gave one last look towards the direction of the creatures, a hand grabbed his shoulder.

Harry started, jumping back, and Ron drew away as well in concern. "You okay, Harry?"

"Where were you?" Hermione asked. "Weren't you hungry?" Harry shook his head wordlessly. The witch frowned.

Draco stretched his arms, coming up with Ginny beside him, though neither looked too pleased with the arrangement. "How much longer will we be spending up here?" he asked, lazily pushing his hair back from his face.

"Why? Can't handle a few hours hiking?" Ron asked, challenged.

Draco smirked. "Of course I can, Weasley. Don't get too concerned." He looked at Harry. "But as today is the first day, I had thought that they'd announce the next task at dinner."

Ginny's eyes widened. "That's right," she breathed. "They're supposed to tell everyone what the task is."

"We'll just figure it out again," Ron said. "Like we did last time. Although, poisoning the champions isn't my idea of a real tournament."

"It's a winner takes all, loser bite the dust sort of thing," Draco replied dryly. "I wouldn't expect a Gryffindor like you to grasp the concept."

"I think it's a good idea to start heading down," Hermione interrupted firmly, sounding as if she'd had enough of the bickering and insults. Her idea of a friendly day outside was completely trashed, as well as her hopes in a friendship--or at least a truce--between everyone. She frowned distastefully and wiped imaginary dust from her robe before looking up expectantly.

"Come on, then. It's halfway through the afternoon. We'll have just enough time to clean up before heading to the Great Hall if we hurry." She started down, the others slowly following after save Harry.

Harry cast one last look back up the trail, thinking of the awe-inspiring creatures that rested just out of eyesight, then followed down the hill as well, back to the school and its bitter competitions.

With luck, the next task would be better.

Author's notes posted at the Yahoo group. Thanks for reading.

March Madness


	20. Chapter XIX

Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

It was raining on April first. Ginnie awoke to a distant mutter of thunder, and the light tapping of spring raindrops blown against her window. When she went down to breakfast and looked out the dining-room window, the world seemed to have been touched, over-night, by an artist's colors. Despite the rain the sky glowed strangely. Young grass showed emerald green, daffodils stood tall, with buds almost ready to open. The forsythia bushes had burst into golden plumes.

Ginne and the Cooking Contest, Catherine Woolley.

Chapter XIX

There was, regrettably, nothing that could be done to stop it. Lucius had tried all acceptable avenues, lowering himself to a near-begging status, but the others wouldn't be moved.

Regretfully, hiding concern with what Narcissa's reaction would be, Lucius nodded his head. "Since there is no other way," he conceded harshly, making even so small a surrender sound more like his own victory, and he sipped from the wineglass, "I've sent the boy a letter. I hope you are satisfied. He will undoubtedly send a reply to inquire after a specific time--which will be at my own discretion." He gave the other two occupants in the room, wizards who unfortunately held the same amount of power as he-- being then unassailable in their wishes--disdainful looks. "I will not have my plans broken because of your foolish wants."

"Wants?" one repeated unbelievingly. "Lucius, our 'wants' are the only rational things in this entire exercise."

"We are merely looking out for our combined interests," added the other in a silken voice, one that Lucius knew had been studied from his own. "You are taking unimaginable risks-"

"I do what I do and need not explain myself," Lucius interrupted, giving his pair rivals a wolfish sneer. "Not even to you."

…

Something had bothered him the entire afternoon and, unfortunately for Draco, Harry had begun to realize exactly what that was. There wasn't much time to think about it; dinner wasn't too far off, and he had said something to the Irish girl about going.

He walked down the hall, mulling the problem over in his head, trying to search for a solution, when he saw Hermione sitting down, reading a newspaper. It was the Daily Prophet. 'Perfect,' Harry thought, and then, 'How did she get the paper?' He eyed her suspiciously for a moment, then forced himself to move on. Just because she suddenly had the Prophet, a paper he meant to get today, didn't mean anything... 'Stop being paranoid. Not everything's about you.'

"Hermione," greeted Harry with a nod, and he sat down beside her. "You have the newspaper?"

Hermione looked up, startled, but she nodded and said she did. Then she gave him a sharp look. "Are you ready for dinner already? You haven't even changed."

"It doesn't matter what I wear, only that I'm there," Harry rebutted calmly. "Do you think that I can borrow the section about my brother?"

The witch flushed, eyes dropping back to the paper as she said, "Your brother? Leonard?" Harry nodded. "How did you know-"

"That they have a section about him?" Harry shrugged, intent on making her find out. He wasn't in the mood for telling anyone anything he knew, especially not anymore.

The sniff Hermione gave showed that she was not impressed by his silence, but she passed the Prophetover to him, watching carefully to see what he did with it. "I asked Lavender to send me the paper whenever something interesting came up," offered the witch, eyes fixed on Harry. It was strange to be watched so carefully; Harry shot her a look but Hermione only arched her eyebrow. "I thought you might want to know how a British paper found its way into France."

"It wouldn't be something I worried about," Harry lied, skimming through the many folds. Hermione rolled her eyes and sat back into her chair, giving off an air of supreme disappointment. Harry looked up with some surprise. "What?"

"Harry..." The witch sighed deeply and shook her head. She reached out a hand to grab one of his and, bewildered, Harry wrinkled his forehead. Hermione looked him in the eyes. "Harry, why don't you trust me?" she asked sincerely, sounding hurt.

Harry straightened up, pulling back a little. "What?" he repeated dumbly, not quite sure what he'd heard.

She sighed again, letting his hands drop as she rubbed her forehead. "I just, I just don't understand it," her confession went. "I've been trying so hard, Harry, to get you to trust me even a little, but nothing works. It's like you're convinced that I'm going to hurt you, somehow, and you won't even try to..."

"Try to what?" asked Harry, though he wasn't sure he should.

Hermione looked up, eyes a little watered. "Try to be your friend," she finished softly. She took a deep breath, whole body close to shaking, and Harry wanted nothing more than to leave the conversation as is. "I've lied for you, Harry," the witch continued, "I've voluntarily left the school campus--which is so illegal, we could get expelled--and I did it for you _twice_! I'm doing my best to avoid Aurors, professors, ministers, and whoever else you don't seem to like so you won't get suspicious of me, even though there's no reason you need to be! You're one of the only people I know here in Beauxbatons. I have no reason to try and alienate you. I don't know why you're so scared of me."

She took another deep breath. "I don't know what else I can do, Harry. There is nothing else I can do to get you to trust me."

Harry stared at her, wide-eyed. "Hermione...You don't know what you're asking, " he said slowly.

"I do," she countered strongly, her voice not as shaky as it had been. "I know you don't trust a lot of people, and I bet that Malfoy's discouraging you from doing so, but Harry... you're going to need help in the tournament. Last month had to show you that!" She gestured to herself. "I can help if you let me--I want to help!"

Harry sighed, frustrated. "Hermione," he started again, firmly, "you don't know who I am, not really, and last month should have proved that to _you_." He looked into her eyes and softly added, "It should have proved that I'm not a person you should be friends with. After all, not a lot of people like _my_ friends."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Harry," she promised fervently, "not if you give me a chance to help instead. I trust that you're smart enough to know who to be friends with. I just want to be one of them, and I'm tired of thinking up ways on how to become so."

Harry shook his head. "Hermione..."

"We can start slow," suggested Hermione, swallowing. She motioned to the newspaper still in his hands. "We can just talk like friends would, like why you want to read the paper. Most teens aren't interested in the rest of the world."

"I can do that," said Harry softly, taking a seat next to Hermione. He glanced at her. "But it's not anything illegal."

She smiled shakily. "It doesn't have to be," Hermione informed him playfully. "We don't have to go on adventures just to have a good time." She rustled the pages. "Now, you said you were looking up something about your brother?"

He nodded stiffly, a little unsettled by her sitting so close. "Leo has monthly interviews with the Prophet, and they're published the first of the month."

"Today?"

"Yes." He turned a page or two and stopped. "See, here he is."

Leo smiled and waved happily from the Black Manor, grinning impishly with his two guardians on either side. For a moment, Harry couldn't breathe. He just looked at the picture longingly. 'I didn't think it would be this hard,' he admitted to himself silently, eyes taking in not only Leo, but the small shot of his home. Of Remus, who Harry hadn't seen in a month and hadn't heard from. Of Sirius, looking happier than Harry had last seen. Of the visiting room, where Leo always gave his interviews.

His little brother, brushing back blonde hair from his eyes, frowned as the strands kept falling back into his face and Sirius laughed noiselessly at him. Remus rolled his eyes, probably on the verge of suggesting a haircut for the Boy Who Lived. The papers would eat it up.

"He looks really cute," Hermione pointed out, laughing when Sirius ruffled up the young celebrity's hair. Leo glared at him, pouting.

Harry smiled a little, relaxing. "He's a good kid. A lot better than anyone else I know."

"He's still young yet. And you don't know a lot of people."

Harry shook his head. "No, you don't know Leo. He's... He's better than... If you meet him once, you just know that Leo's destined for greatness."

He felt Hermione's eyes lingering over him uncomfortably, so he cleared his throat and quickly said, "I just wanted to see what he said in the interview."

"Why?" Hermione frowned a little. "You're his brother. Nothing he says can be news to you."

Noise coming from down the hall stopped the conversation and they both looked up. Ginny, humming to herself and using her hands to brush her hair, stopped dead and blushed a little. "Um… am I interrupting something?" She took a hesitant step into the room.

"No," Harry answered immediately, moving to brush the newspaper aside.

Hermione grabbed one of his hands and kept him from standing. "No," she repeated meaningfully to the other girl. "Harry was just talking about his brother. There's something in the newspaper about Leonard."

"Oh!" Cheerfully, Ginny chose to take a seat and leaned forward, interested. "What about?"

Harry stiffened but Hermione squeezed one of his hands, giving him a look that clearly meant to remind him of her conversation. Letting out a low breath, Harry sat back against the cushions, forcing himself to relax as Ginny went on about something, how she was getting ready for dinner.

He closed his eyes briefly. 'What can they do to me?' he asked himself, hardly hearing the girls' excited conversation about recent news from Hogwarts. 'They've already shown that they're not here to hurt me.'

He opened his eyes to see them watching him expectantly, exchanging quick glances. He swallowed, an odd feeling settling in the pit of his stomach, then shoved on. "We were just reading the paper," he repeated Hermione's words dumbly, passing the newspaper over to her. "Leo's interview is in there."

"My parents are probably reading this right now," Ginny said with a little smile. "Mum, at least. She's always reading the latest news."

"Your parents and every other witch or wizard," retorted Hermione teasingly. "I can't imagine anyone not wanting to know more about Leonard." She looked up to Harry. "I was just asking Harry why he wanted to read it, though. I can't imagine Leonard saying some surprise in such a public place." She quickly handed the pages back to him and Harry escaped answering the question by busying himself in reading.

It was just as he thought. Without thinking, Harry quietly murmured, "It's not in here."

"What's not?" Ginny perked up, eyes wide and questioning. Harry glanced at her in surprise and then glanced back to the paper. The girl gave Hermione an impatient look and Hermione only shook her head.

"Was Leo suppose to-"

"Leonard," Harry interrupted without looking up. "Leo doesn't like to be called that by anyone he doesn't know."

Hermione bit her cheek then tried again. "Was _Leonard_ supposed to say something?"

"I think it's about time for dinner," Harry suddenly started, standing up. The sheets of paper fluttered to the floor, gathering at his feet only to be ruthlessly squashed when he stepped on them. He looked around. "It is, isn't it?"

Ginny stood up with him, one hand going to her hip. "Even if it is, we're not going anywhere-"

"Ron isn't even ready yet," Hermione hurriedly cut in. "Neither is Malfoy, for that matter." She glanced toward the hallway. "They wouldn't be very happy if we left without them." Ginny rolled her eyes but sat down and after a minute, Harry nervously did the same. "I don't know why it's taking the boys more time than the girls to get ready."

After she stopped talking, the room's conversation lapsed into awkward silence. Ginny fidgeted, sending looks to Hermione every time she could, looks Harry couldn't ignore. It didn't help that Hermione was just sitting there patiently, pretending that nothing was wrong.

Hermione's words about trust echoed uncomfortable in his ears. It was true, of course. After his parents died… Harry swallowed softly, finishing the thought. 'Since mum and dad died, it's been hard to talk to anyone, hard to trust them.'

A few minutes later, he let out a tortured breath. "I just... I had heard that Leo said something. I wanted to see for myself whether it was true... and it wasn't in the interview so..."

"Was it about you?" Hermione asked, quickly talking before Ginny could say a word. Harry nodded and, pressing her lips together, Hermione thoughtfully added, "It was about the tournament, then, wasn't it?"

Harry gave her a shocked look and she smiled merrily. "It's obvious, Harry. If it's about you, it's because the reporters asked Leonard how he felt with you in this tournament. It's a question everyone will want the answer to. But you said it wasn't in the paper..."

Ginny, allowed to speak for once, made a scoffing noise. "Hermione, if Leonard was talking about the tournament, they'd probably edit it out. No one outside of Beauxbatons is allowed to talk about the tournament results or tasks or anything else, at least not until the year's over." She tossed her head back, sinking into the cushions. "McGonagall was drilling that into everyone's heads as they left. Now, I can't get it out of mine."

"They edited Leo's interview?" Harry summed up, taken back. "They've never done that before."

"You were with Leo when he gave out interviews?" asked Ginny. "I never saw your picture."

"I didn't want to have my picture taken," he answered lightly, "so I asked not to be in the photos they published." He looked into his hands, willing the conversation to change.

"They couldn't avoid it," Hermione replied to his question about editing. "Not at this security level." She paused. "Harry, how did you know about what the interview had? I thought that the Prophet took the highest precautions--they did everything to make sure that nothing was leaked before it was printed. I know the other papers would pay a lot of money to know beforehand."

He shrugged awkwardly. "I was told."

"By who?" she pressed intently.

"By Malfoy," Ginny answered, making Harry jerk back. She smiled in a dark, victorious fashion, and leaned forward towards Harry. "I knew it!" the little witch declared. "I knew it! That's what he's blackmailing you with!"

"Ginny!" Hermione hissed, giving the girl a look.

Ginny only shook her head. Harry, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?" he asked, losing any play of relaxation and becoming defensive. "What blackmail?"

"Ginny, stop it right now," Hermione warned.

"Harry, everyone's noticed," Ginny said over Hermione, locking eyes with the boy. "_Everyone_," she repeated darkly. "They've all noticed how you'll do whatever Malfoy says, tell him anything he wants, but only him. You're doing all this because he's doing something for you."

She stood and kicked at the newspaper on the floor. "And that's it, isn't it? He's getting you information about Leonard." Her hands curled into angry, white fists and she viciously bit out, "_Not everything is about Leonard, Harry!_"

Harry eyed her coldly. "I don't know where you came up with this idea, but you're wrong. Draco hasn't passed me any news about my brother."

"You can lie to me, Harry," Ginny said in a near-hiss, "but I know the truth. Is your deal worth it now?"

"Ginny, stop!"

"No," Harry said to the witch, glaring at Ginny. "No, go ahead Ginny. Tell me whatever you want."

She took in a deep breath, but shook her head. "I won't, because you're not ready to hear what I have to say." Her eyes flashed and, aggressively, she crossed her arms over her chest, daring him to contradict her. "You're not ready to know. I thought you were, but you're not."

"Harry." Hermione stood up, effectively blocking out Ginny with her body. "Just calm down, please. We don't need to fight." She looked at him imploringly. "We don't need to fight so soon."

Harry looked away. No, the deal wasn't worth it. He wanted to spit at Ginny, wanted to curse Draco until his bones ached forever. Her words were the echoes that had haunted him for days now: giving up some measure of freedom for a result that never showed. He couldn't stand it. "I couldn't believe what Draco said was true," he murmured quietly to Hermione, head spinning with anger and feeling unable to stop the torrent of words coming out of his mouth. "Leo... Leo wouldn't say anything like that. And it's not in the papers--he couldn't have said that."

"Said what?" Hermione asked gently. Behind her, Ginny started to move, but Hermione made a violent hand gesture that stopped it.

Harry let out a deep breath. "...Nothing. He didn't say anything. Draco's a liar."

"How could _Malfoy _have known about what your brother said?" Hermione began slowly.

He let out a deep, twisted chuckle. "How could he?" he asked sarcastically, eyes flashing with self-directed anger. "Lucius could probably find out any secret... but it's taken so long..." He shook his head. "I'm a fool for not seeing it before. Lucius... Lucius would never do that to me. But I don't know his son at all. How could I have trusted him?"

"The Malfoys are evil," Ginny blurted out stiffly. Both of their heads snapped up to look at her and she looked back at them defiantly. "You could feel it in their house. Their manor was pure magic, and it was hostile-"

"Ginny!"

"What do you know about evil?" Harry asked lowly. His head felt frightfully hot, and his hands inexplicably cool--as though he was given both pain and cure at the same time.

Hermione closed her mouth thoughtfully, staring at him, and he knew that she was putting words together in a way that wouldn't be offensive. She would never run out of answers, Harry determined bitterly, but only run out of delicate ways of proving her intelligence.

"I think that the best definition of evil," started Ginny, and Harry nearly bit his tongue in anger at hearing her voice, "is something that looks good but really isn't."

"And you've had plenty of experience with this?" Harry challenged, knowing exactly where she was going with it. "How many times have you come across something 'evil'? Or is the word just a label you put on things that you don't like?"

Ginny glared back at him. "It's easy to attack me when I'm pushing you, isn't it? Whenever you feel threatened?"

"Just as easy as it is for you to condemn everything you don't understand," Harry shot back.

"I'm trying to help you, Harry!" the girl yelled at him, throwing her fists in the air in a gesture of frustration. "Why can't you see that! Why?!"

"Because you're going about it the wrong way," Hermione answered lowly.

Harry stared at her, trying to make Ginny disappear and regretting ever trusting her, ever talking to her. 'She should be in Hogwarts,' he decided tiredly, rubbing at his forehead. His scar was beginning to burn for some reason, a light, distracting pain. 'She should be away from me.'

A glance towards the window showed that the sun had set sometime when he'd looked away, but his eyes were dragged back inside when he heard voices coming down the hall. Arguing. 'Ron and Draco,' he identified wearily. 'Fighting in there just like we were fighting in here.' Dinner didn't sound the least bit appealing anymore.

"I'm going about it the only way I know how," Ginny suddenly murmured, still staring at him, making him twitch. "I'm sorry if I hurt you, Harry. I just..." She shrugged helplessly. "I just don't know what else I can do."

Her words were so reminiscent of Hermione's that Harry glanced at the girl, Hermione returning his look evenly. The two boys walked in, still fighting lowly, not noticing the frigid atmosphere of the room.

"Ron!" Hermione stepped around Harry, going over to Ron and tugging at his sleeve. "Why is it that every time I leave you alone, I come back to find your fists out?"

"Funny," Draco cut in, "that's the same question you ask a gorilla."

While those three began in earnest, Ginny took a step towards Harry. He took a step away and she rolled her eyes. "I just wanted to add something," the girl informed him with a touch of exasperation in her voice.

"Add it from there," he replied darkly. "I don't want to be anywhere near you."

"I thought you'd want to know... My mum used to talk about her old friends from Hogwarts--purebloods, mostly--and how they became Death Eaters because they honestly thought it was the best choice." Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. "But, obviously, it wasn't."

'To you,' Harry wanted to spit out, but all he managed was, "And what happened to them? Did they... did they change their minds?"

"Some of them. A few even became spies and helped win the war."

"The war wasn't won," Harry declared on reflex. "It was concluded without real effort from either side to that end."

"Of course," she said placatingly, "you'd know all about that, with Leonard and all."

The three were waiting for them by the door, Draco glaring daggers at Ginny. For once, Harry didn't care. He stared at Draco until the Slytherin looked back curiously, and Harry wanted to sneer. 'You lied about Leo,' he thought to the boy, 'because Leo would say something like that. He'd never feel the need to ingratiate himself with the press by claiming association with me. If you can lie, so can I.'

He then turned and gave Ginny a hard look, one to match the speculative one she'd been giving him. "Why did you think I'd want to know about _that_?" he asked scornfully, annoyed with her familiarity.

"I just wanted you to know that everyone knows people who aren't popular. But just because you know them, doesn't mean you have to be friends with them forever."

Harry glared at her. "You listened to our conversation," he stated flatly. Ginny nodded. She stared at him, not the least bit repentant. Curious despite himself, Harry asked, "Why are you telling me?"

She bit her lip, answer coming slowly. "Because I'm not the only one who overheard what Hermione was saying to you. But I want you to know from me. Harry, I'm only trying to do what's best for you-"

"You can leave me alone, for starters."

"If you value your privacy so much," Ginny spat back at him, riled up from his unconcern about her confession, "then you better talk with Malfoy. You don't think he took so long to get ready for the fun of it?"

As she walked away, Harry followed with his eyes, looking over at Draco who stared back evenly.

…

"The task for each champion is to defeat a specifically chosen monster," the Minister read out, face blank even as most of the champions gathered around grimaced. He paused, letting the news sink in and then continued. "At some time in the month, you will be told that the task will begin. Until then, you should take the time to prepare. It may begin tomorrow, it may begin the last day of the month."

The Minister stopped and briskly snapped the parchment closed. "That is all," he deigned to say before simply walking away.

His exit took the respectful silence with it, and the champions broke out into excited conversation.

They had all been gathered outside after dinner, which had been a mundane affair of champions trying to ingratiate each other in preparation for backstabbing. Harry's presence had surprised many--it had been painfully obvious that he was unwelcome by most, and that the rest were close enough to the same emotion to be borderline-hostile. At least the cool night air provided some relief from the stifling atmosphere.

Harry thoughtfully leaned against the wall, watching the Minister's fading back. Plenty of small insects were crowding the clock tower's giant light source, making a buzzing sound that was barely loud enough to be heard over the laughter, shrieks, and groans of the students.

His thoughts drifted back to Draco and, as had happened all dinner, some part of him rose in immediate defense. 'He could have been telling the truth,' Harry realized guiltily, relieved that nothing had actually been said to the other boy. If Draco was telling the truth and Harry had tried to brand him as a liar…

He mentally snarled at himself. 'If Draco knew about what Leo said, things that no one else knew about, then he has a way to get information. Leo gives out interviews in the middle of the month--Draco has known for at least a week, possibly two, and he didn't say a word!'

His mind split again, the two sides arguing and battling against each other: whether he should still truth Lucius's son. 'He may have just gotten the information--but he may be lying about it altogether!'

Harry closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. His scar was aching, burning like a live fire against his skin that nothing could ease. He wanted to believe Draco--as Lucius's son, that would be the easiest course of all--but things were taking too long and he'd been left in the dark far too often. Sirius's visit and the excuses from then didn't hold true anymore.

'All it took was something as simple as a newspaper article,' he mused to himself with cold mirth, 'and then it became obvious that nothing made sense.' He wasn't sure if it made much sense--if, to any other person viewing all the facts, there was any logic to his decision. But he just knew somehow that Draco couldn't be telling the whole truth. Some part of him still seemed to quail at the quasi-logic, struggling desperately to remind him of all Draco had done for him, but a greater part refused to be duped any more.

As simply as that, Harry felt the bonds slide away.

Two faces started towards him, obviously veering away from the rest of the crowd. The first was Eachna, unsurprisingly. He couldn't help being suspicious about whether her earlier good will had come from her gratitude for his help or from her desire to catch him somehow, trap him for her own plans.

The second girl, surprisingly, was Adele, the same girl who'd been with the Felix boy from earlier. She wasn't a champion that Harry expected to be on friendly terms with. The Spanish girl, however, looked like she was being dragged by her Irish counterpart, not pleased at all with her destination.

When they stopped next to him, Harry politely nodded his head. "Hello."

Eachna plowed in immediately. "Well?" she demanded, excitement reflected in her eyes. "Whatd'ya think, Harry?" Her eyes looked wide enough to just pop out. Adele shifted uncomfortably.

"About?" Harry asked, letting his body straighten out. His face's skin felt roughened from where it had lain against the stone wall, and he rubbed at it, finding small pebbles had attached themselves to him. He brushed them off, sending with the rocks any last thoughts about Draco Malfoy.

The Irish champion sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes. "Abou' tha task, silly! What else would Ah be talkin' abou'?" She pointed a finger into his chest in a chastising manner. "Ya kno, we 'ave ta start plannin--can't just go'n and hope fur tha best, now can we?" She pursed her lips in concentration. "Ah was thinkin tha maybe we could all jus go'n fight all our monsters together. Three 'gainst one be better odds than one 'gainst one, you agree?"

"I agree," Adele put in, "but I doubt that the Ministry will allow us to team up. They will probably have some spell in place to assure against that possibility." She blinked lazily at Harry as if waiting for him to disagree with her.

"Well, maybe," Eachna allowed slowly, "but tha won't stop us from at least trainin together, will it? They'll 'ave to let us do that."

"Maybe," said the Spanish girl, sounding worse off for the admittance.

Eachna looked at Harry with her wide eyes and elbowed him, laughing when he took a defensive step back and used his arms to cover his midsection. "What'cha ta say ta tha, 'arry? You ain't but spoke two words since Ah got 'ere. Thinkin up a betta plan?"

"I think Adele's right," Harry finally said, keeping out of Eachna's reach. "They wouldn't let it be that easy for us. After last month, I wouldn't want to let my guard down." Adele looked pleased at his answer.

"Then we'll 'ave to train _especially_ 'ard," Eachna determined. "Ah think it'd be best if we got a few more people involved, tho. Won't hurt none." Before Harry could stop her, the girl had turned around and cupped her hands around her mouth, yelling into the crowd, "'EY, YOU LOT! LISTEN UP FOR ONE, WILL YA?"

Her voice quieted them somewhat, but the quiet wasn't better compared to the multitude of eyes that turned to stare at them curiously. Harry blanched, muttering, "She didn't have to do that."

"I agree," he thought he heard Adele murmur in reply.

"Now," Eachna started in a normal voice, having everyone's attention. Her hands went to her hips, lecturing position, and her spill of red hair was especially violent under the bad torchlight. "Las' month weren't too good, was it? We all--most o' us--got knocked right off our feet. Sure, they didden give us any warnin', an' Ah've even 'eard some rumor that they didden wan' us to pass anyway--thought they'd use us all as'a example ta keep on our guard."

The murmurs turned dark. It seemed like everyone else had heard that particular rumor as well, and no one liked it. A few heads turned to Harry's way and were ignored.

"Ah dona want tha ta happen again," Eachna was saying, finger back out and shaking at the body of students. "Ah know ya dona want tha, either. So, Ah'm making a fair proposition."

She spread her hands out wide to include everyone. "How bout we all train together? We'll all get betta, we'll all be tha much more prepared fur the monsters we'll 'ave'ta face next week.-"

"And now," a voice whispered as Harry started to turn towards the deliciously inviting darkness, "you're planning to slip away."

Harry froze, looking over his shoulder. Adele was studying him with some grim satisfaction. Rigidly, he circled back to facing Eachna. Still staring at the Irish girl, he muttered, "What are you talking about?"

"I've been watching you, Harry Potter," Adele whispered, her own eyes focused strictly on the other girl. To anyone watching, it would look like the two were completely fascinated by what Eachna had to say. "Ever since I knew you were going to be a champion, I've watched you whenever you were around. Which wasn't much."

Harry felt the muscles in his jaw go tense and forcefully relaxed them, but then realized the rest of his body was in the same way. Paranoia leaped at him. "Is there a reason why?" he asked with forced calm. His eyes flickered over to Adele then quickly returned to Eachna.

"Youngest champion, one who is technically too young to even compete?" Adele shrugged, brushing her long hair behind a shoulder. "Call it curiosity. I wanted to know what you would do." She let out a twinkling sound of amusement, noise coming from deep in her throat. "It kept me occupied when I was bored. And no one else around here is as interesting as you've turned out to be."

She scooted a little closer until their shoulders touched. "I know what you are like," she whispered again, voice carrying only to his ear. "You do not like being around people. Whenever you can, you run away. At first, I thought you were only a coward. Now, I'm not so sure."

"You don't know anything," Harry rebuked scornfully, feeling a wave of relief. She couldn't, of course. She really couldn't.

"I knew you were lying when you said you were kidnapped," she added. "It was obvious. I felt stupid not to have noticed before. When you got back, you told everyone you were kidnapped and didn't know what was happening. But you did not act like you had been ill-treated, you did not behave like a victim. Instead, you avoided the Aurors who were trying to help you, like a criminal would. I wonder why no one else caught that-"

"Maybe there's a reason," Harry interrupted, looking from Eachna to Adele. He didn't glare; he only looked at her as if he were curious or even bored. "Just because I do or don't do a specific thing, it doesn't mean I'm automatically lying." His eyes narrowed and he looked away, carelessly added, "You'll never find out, either way."

"Maybe I will. We're going to be spending so much time together now, thanks to Eachna. In my country, they teach us to know our enemies." Her eyes flashed. "I'll find out whatever I want to know."

Harry gave her a sharp look, eyebrows raising in confusion. "What did I do to become your enemy?"

"Felix is my cousin, though his family lives in Portugal and mine in Spain. I have known him since we were children. He has behaved shamefully--but only because he was provoked." Adele gave him a haughty look. "His behavior is inexcusable but yours is as well. You are my enemy because you are his. Felix is too great a fool to do anything about it but I am not a fool."

"You are a fool," Harry muttered, turning away. Eachna was actually calling up a large crowd of interested, albeit suspicious champions for her team training sessions. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the cool stone and ignoring the Spanish girl altogether. She wasn't nearly as intimidating as she would wish to be.

"So, Harry, will ya join us?" Eachna materialized in front of his face, the head of a very large crowd all centered on him.

Harry took a step back, suddenly feeling very much smothered. Everyone was looking at him, some almost hungrily like a chew toy for the wolves. The Irish girl leaned forward and whispered into his ear, "Ah don't know if ya know, but som'a tha others think tha' ya be guilty of cheatin'. Remember what Ah said earlier?" She leaned back to give him a hard look, no longer the optimistic champion but one wanting nothing more than to win. "Ah know ya didden do nuthin', Harry, and Ah'm guessin' yer in over ya 'ead, so Ah want ta 'elp ya. But Ah cant 'elp if ya won't be tryin' ta look innacent."

"I didn't do anything," Harry whispered back fiercely, "and I don't _need_ to do anything to prove that." He shoved her hand away, glaring. "And I don't need your help to get through this."

As he started to back away, Eachna loudly announced something, but he was beyond listening. 'It was stupid to come here,' Harry thought to himself viciously. 'I could have found out about the task some other way--and I didn't need to stay longer than I had to.'

"Come!" Out of nowhere, a hand appeared and aimed to grab Harry by the shoulder. Nimbly, he sidestepped and unwittingly fell right into another pair of waiting arms as he was surrounded by curious, sometimes hostile faces. The champions who spoke English were gathered around him like a tribe of warriors.

"Come where?" Harry bit out, keeping his feet light as he tried to force a distance around him where the other bodies wouldn't evade.

Eachna rolled her eyes in irritation at his reticence. "Come on, Harry! We're off ta 'ave a celebration! If ya don't want ta train with us, at least come'n have a party."

Behind her, Adele's sharp, knowing eyes were dark with delight, setting off warning sirens in his head, and Harry jerked away, nearly tipping into the crowd for his movement. "I don't want to go-"

"But you must," the Spanish champion insisted, smirking at his strained reluctance. Her command was repeated by dozens of bystanding champions, all just as demanding in his surrender. "After all, we're all friends here. We just want to get to know you better."

She leaned in closer. "I see you weren't listening. Eachna just announced that you were too scared to train with the rest of us, but that if you just spent some time with the champions, you'd change your mind. Her announcement was met with much enthusiasm." She grinned darkly. "I'm not the only one who has watched you, and I'm not the only one who wants to make you uncomfortable. Watch yourself this night, champion." Then Adele was gone in a flash of swirling robes, replaced by other strangers who chatted wildly about the upcoming celebration.

Like a whirlpool he couldn't escape, Harry found hands lashed to his body that dragged him down the paved sidewalks of Beauxbatons. Though he often walked the campus, he didn't recognize the dormitories that they were dragging him to--apartments for the other champions, large and spacious and fine. He scrambled wildly when a chance appeared, but it was impossible to escape before the doors to the building opened.

Loud voices deafened him but not enough to completely block out the music that was playing in the background as he stumbled into the apartments. Loud, pulsing sound and flashing light. As soon as he was forced inside, his captors slowly dissipated, dumping him into the center of the room where they were sure he wouldn't escape and then dissolving into the crowd of pre-arrived champions. There seemed to be hundreds of them, curiously staring at him until recognition hit: here was the boy who had bested them all.

A pair of dark-eyed girls sneered at him as they walked by, each holding a drink and looking like a pair of barmaids in their clothing and makeup. They jostled him intentionally, and it was only by quick reflex that he managed to escape having their beverages unceremoniously spilt onto his clothing. The tactic landed the drinks into a pale boy's lap, and he stood up with outrage, immediately lashing into a verbal abuse of the pair.

Smoke and fog made the ground impossibly to see, but reflected the flashing lights perfectly. Nearby, a group of champions laughed loudly as one of their own shoved enough space to begin dancing.

He walked through the room, searching for the exit but seeing only one side of the place turned into a makeshift mini-bar--fine glasses were spun around like frisbees, tipped over with glistening liquid that the champions seemed only too eager to drink up. Time passed like a spinning top, faster and faster and with greater wobbles from the party. He was left waiting for the inevitably collapse of the party, which seemed like the only way he'd now get away. Whenever he began walking near an exit, he was blocked off.

'I'm in a club,' Harry thought at first, staring around him in amazement. For sure, he thought that somehow the champions had bested the school's security to create a portal into a nightclub in the streets of France. But then he recognized the area's furnishings, frighteningly similar to his own rooms. He _was_ in someone's apartments, an apartment that had its furniture pressed into the walls to create the effect of roominess. Every space was filled, though, with hot bodies and stifling breath.

"Harry!" Eachna appeared as if by magic over an hour later, her clothing and hair changed dramatically from the informal to the wildly adventurous, and Harry had to stare a moment to recognize her. She pressed a glass into his hand, drinking a similar one herself. "'Ere, Ah thought ya might like some-"

The drink was rudely taken away, snatched from the side, and Adele was there with a smirk on her face. Without explanation, she drained the glass and tossed it overhead. There was a crack--hardly audible over the many voices and the blasting music--and a house-elf, moving frantically, barely managed to catch the cup before it shattered onto the heads of those nearby. It disappeared as quickly as it came, like a flash of a ghost that Harry flinched at. His time without seeing her now seemed to have gone by too fast.

"You're too young to be drinking," the witch slurred, haughtily expression daring him to contradict. Another champions walked by and, without notice, Adele had taken his drink as well.

"So are you," he darkly answered. The witch paused, smirking at Harry over her stolen drink before swallowing it all in one swig.

The conversation had been yelled over the music and Harry twitched. His ears felt ready to pop with all the sound, feeling beaten down by sheer volume. The back of his neck burned and Harry looked around coolly, counting all the faces directed his way. They were watching, waiting to see what he would do, waiting to see what they could then do to him.

"I think you've had too many," he later shouted at the Spanish girl, when she swayed dangerously, gulping down her drink. It was the last in some unnumbered march of drinks. He'd watched her pick up glass after glass as if she were competing against some invisible foe. Instead of the usual exuberance most people experienced, though, the witch only seemed to be getting depressed.

His caution only brought a contemptuous glare to her face, but whatever she said in retort was lost beneath the buzzing all around them.

The music slowly began going down and the conversations dampening at the same speed. Even the enormous fans that cooled the room were dying down, resulting in more than a few complaints at the room's boiling heat. A creeping sensation rode over his body like a tidal wave, making him freeze like a deer caught in the headlights. Somehow, he knew the disruption in the celebration had its source in him.

'I don't know where I am, I don't know the people I am with,' Harry mentally acknowledged, keeping calm. 'Foolish, foolish, foolish...'

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

Someone grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him towards the front of the room before he could turn around. He nearly stumbled on his heels, being dragged backwards so carelessly, but caught himself before that could happen. The other champions backed away, creating a center of attraction for their entertainment tonight--and they thought he would provide it. Harry glanced around calmly, green eyes taking in their excited faces.

He barely could keep from baring his teeth at them. 'I'm not a thing to poke at or play with and I'll make sure everyone here understands that.' He glanced backwards to the offending hand that had dragged him in the first place. 'You started this.'

The wizard Felix of Portugal had been the one to grab him, not that Harry had thought it to be anyone else, and he was smirking at Harry like a hungry wolf.

Harry affected a blank expression as though being dragged to the fore of an agitated teenage crowd was an ordinary experience. "I thought you'd know my name by now," he answered in sharp tones. Harry raised his head impatiently, jarring the hair from his face and unintentionally drawing attention to the strange scar on his forehead. "I heard it repeated enough times at the dinner-"

The Portuguese champion snarled, face wrinkled in rage. "It will be the last time," came the dark promise. "Your position is only an error that I will fix." He slowly straightened up again as if remembering the waiting crowd behind, and began playing to the waiting mood of the many faces. "After all, my headmaster was here tonight. I was told by him that this month's task were not really a task, but an exercise to warm us up and prepare us for the next months."

"Yours wasn't the only," someone shouted. "Mine said the same thing." And mine, a handful of other voices echoed spitefully.

Felix grinned maliciously. In the silence of the room, it seemed to Harry that all else faded away save for this single wizard. "So, did your headmaster try to boast your confidence by telling you this month's task was _real_?"

He made a show of looking around. "Ah, but where was your headmaster?" teased the champion boy in front of Harry. He spread his hands wide in an innocent gesture. "Did anyone see the _great_ Albus Dumbledore here tonight? Or was he too busy doing other great tasks? All the others came, professors as well, but for Hogwarts." His last words ended quietly, a rest before he began in earnest. "Hogwarts… Despite all its reputation, the old school is hardly the best here. If anyone looked at your school, they would see its faults as obvious as cracks in stone."

Harry didn't respond. Hogwarts's dignity meant nothing to him--despite its homeliness, he'd only been in the building for a week before leaving, and felt no particular loyalty to it anymore--and Felix hadn't yet said anything to unforgivably sting Harry's temper.

'But...' He looked up knowingly, green eyes capturing the lights and sizzling them, '... it won't be long before I'll have to do something.' Harry could feel a familiar adrenaline rush buzz through him and forced himself not to react. He wanted to wait until Felix actually said something worth reacting to. He wanted to wait until he could see the apprehension on the other's face as the boy realized he'd gone too far, to see the uncertainty and hesitance as the boy wondered how Harry would react. He wanted to wait until Felix stumbled over himself in front on everyone.

A bit of movement drew his attention to the edge of the human barrier that prevented him from disappearing into the crowd. Adele looked more drunk than she had only minutes before, her eyes hardly open as she stumbled through to the front. Yet another glass tipped perilously in her hand, splashing onto another's shoes to that person's disgust. She ignored everyone to stare intently at the scene. To her side, pushing just as hard, Eachna glance at him was puzzled. Her own step, Harry noticed, was just as tipsy as Adele's; if Eachna meant to be of some help, she could at most stumble over some champions before she passed out.

Adele sighed dramatically, rolled her head back in a display of resignation. "Oh, Felix, not this again!" She took the opportunity to gulp down her drink, and a house-elf appeared nervously, prepared to catch it before she threw it somewhere. Beneath its subservient expression, the creature was beginning to look slightly irritated. Adele straightened up, nearly throwing herself to the side by doing so, and she gave her cousin a dazed glare. "How many times do you have to say this?"

"Hey, Harry!" the Irish witch called out cheerfully, catching her neighbor's shoulder before she tipped over. The champion shrugged her off irritably, but she'd already regained her balance. "Wot'cha doin' standin all up there by yerself?"

"Silent, cousin," the wizard muttered angrily before turning back to Harry. He sneered, looking as if he hoped Harry would not like to hear his next words:

"Your school and its 'traditions' are all outdated," Felix began spitefully. "They're worn out. Your headmaster is a feeble old man, a leftover from two wars whose sanity is questionable. Your professors are wizards and witches too deluded with their own beliefs, their own prejudices to truly teach the human mind."

He stopped to let out a barrel of hard laughter. "Even your _classes _are old-fashioned, taught in the fabled magical castle. Who still wants to be taught potions in the dungeons, divination in the tower?"

It sounded like a well-rehearsed speech, and when Harry said as much, Felix turned pale with anger. A champion or two chuckled, quieting when Felix turned his glare on the crowd. He immediately launched into another speech, this one touching upon the many failures Hogwarts experienced in the last few years, exhausting rumor and gossip to stain the old castle's proud name. In the crowd, some shifted uncomfortably but most watched to see Harry's reaction.

When Felix paused to take breath, Harry dryly replied, "You sound obsessed with this castle." Slowly, letting his eyes half-close and letting his chin rise slightly, he asked, "Is it because you're jealous, as you know you'd never be accepted in its walls?"

Harry neatly jumped back when Felix let out an unsteady swing of his fists, resulting in the Portuguese champion falling forward. The physical attack called a low buzz from the crowd and Harry glanced at them. They would cajole Felix into taking the attack into a full wizard duel, if possible.

He mentally bared his teeth at them. 'Let them,' he taunted silently, eyes flashing. 'Let them try to attack me.' Adrenaline rushed through his blood, making him feel invincible, and he barely stopped a laugh from erupting out of his throat. There was something almost irresistible in the knowledge that he could face this champion boy and win--that he could face this crowd and come out the victor.

He watched Felix right himself, the champion's face near purple with rage and hand going for his wand. With a negligent motion, Harry sent the wand a few feet out of reach, rolling just beyond the champion's wavering fingertips. Felix growled angrily, lunging for his wand only to have it roll away again on another unfelt breeze. The wooden stick calmly rolled to Harry's feet where he watched it with a faint smirk.

Felix stood on unsteady feet and glared, but Harry only picked up the dropped wand and made a point of examining it. He looked up. "Did you mean to use this?" Harry asked, giving the stolen wand an experimental wave. "And are you sure you want to?" He ended his question by pointing the wand back at its owner threateningly.

Felix grinned devilishly. "Go ahead," he taunted, standing up straight and spreading his arms wide. He started to laugh dryly. "Go ahead, little boy. Show how ignorant you are." He gave the crowd an amused expression. "He doesn't even know that you can't use another's wand-"

"_Nox_."

All the lights in the area went out. For a moment, there was dead calm, and then the champions started shouting and yelling, stampeding the area. Just as suddenly as the lights went out, a single beam of light started up, sprouting from Harry's borrowed wand and silencing the room.

Harry gazed around. Adrenaline was gone, replaced by a hollow and curious emptiness he felt inside himself.

He felt suddenly very weary.

'Children,' he thought with a little disgust. 'I've been reduced to playing with children--and I'm no better than they are.'

He could remember real nights of magic, nights where he could have died or killed or been captured. And now, to replace those memories, he was taunting an unblooded wizard, one who had probably been shielded during all the battles and skirmishes.

'Where's that vaunted wizard's honor, Potter,' he asked himself mockingly. 'You were actually planning on attacking him.' His parents would be unhappy to find him like this--it was a shocking thought, one that came out of nowhere, and Harry swallowed tightly. It had been so long since he'd really thought about his parents…

"You should know," he said aloud quietly, his voice was the only sound in the room, "that a wizard with enough training can use any wand he wants." The globe of light gave a little shudder, as if proving his words, and then grew bright still, floating higher until it was a bright little sun hanging over the room and lighting it all. They wouldn't forget that little demonstration.

Harry watched their reactions with none of his own, arms hanging patiently by his sides. 'Mum wouldn't have liked to see this,' he noted without emotion. 'She was so worried about all the things I wouldn't have time to learn… and now, to find out that they didn't even know that…' It was a painful thought in many ways.

He sighed and rubbed at his forehead, suddenly feeling very ashamed of himself. He could have stopped the situation at any time. Instead, he'd goaded the champion on, _wanting_ things to get out of hands, wanting an opportunity to show off and to make them afraid of him. 'It's not me,' he knew instinctively, 'but what else is there?'

Harry looked around the room to see the room looking back at him expectantly. He had every eye waiting on his next words. "What?" Harry thoughtlessly snarled at them, uncomfortably vulnerable in front of so many. He glared, sneered. "Surprised that I'm not as stupid as you thought I'd be?"

No one answered, though Felix was giving him a look and seemed to be the spokesman for the group. Harry glared more, eyes narrowing, trying his best to run away from his own discomfort. "You started this," he accused of the champion, echoing his earlier thoughts, "so why don't you finish?" Disgustedly, he threw the teen his wand back, not even looking to make sure the wooden stick was caught. Instead, he stormed off into the crowd, jaw clenching when the crowd backed off from around him.

'Show them a trick and they treat you like a god,' he thought darkly, moving for where he'd marked the exit.

"Potter!"

Harry stilled dangerously. "What?" he asked in a dangerously low voice, question directed over his shoulder at the Portuguese champion. "You're not done having fun with me? Not done trying to insult me?" He laughed dryly, eyes focused on the floor. "Enough is enough--it's not as though anything you can say will mean anything. The only thing would be a smear against my brother, champion, and I advise you to do that at your own risk."

Nothing shocked him so much as hearing Felix break out into a light laugh, to find the champion's hands on his shoulders and whirling him around. Felix didn't have his wand out; it was pocketed carelessly in a robe pocket. He wasn't glaring or snarling, wasn't preparing to have revenge. He was laughing, and Harry stiffened in surprise.

"What?" Harry asked suspiciously.

The Portuguese champion shook his head wryly. "Insult you? So soon, again? There have been enough of those for the night." He shook his head again, letting his arm drip over Harry's shoulders heavily. "According to you, I would need at least a night more to think up more witty, derogatory speeches."

Tense as he was, it wasn't hard for Harry to realize that the rest of the room was relaxing. The party was beginning again. Music slowly turned back on, along with the fans to blow out the gathered hot air, and the other champions seemed to have lost complete interest in the scrawny fifteen-year-old in their midst. Harry looked around, startled at how normal everything had become.

"I'm sorry for that, I really am," Felix was saying, speaking with extravagant hand gestures and leaning so heavily on Harry that he was actually guiding Harry through the crowds, physically pressuring him into going certain directions. For his part, Harry had no idea what was going on. "But, you understand, don't you?"

"Understand what?" Harry asked quickly, sure that nothing was making any sense.

But Eachna was coming up with a great smile, brushing Felix off like a pest into the crowd and gathering Harry's arms to tug him towards a secluded wall. "Ah knew it," she bragged to him. "Ah even told 'em what would 'appen, soes that they'd know Ah knew. But ya surprised us all, Harry!"

Harry pulled his arm back slowly, head spinning. "What's going on?" he asked again, glancing everywhere at once. They were still watching him, but with easy curiosity empty of hostility. He swallowed uneasily. "What's happened?" She laughed at him and left him there, telling him something that was too soft to hear.

Harry winced, rubbing at his forehead. Nothing was making any sense. First, he was ready to take on the crowd. Now, he was lost within them.

"What's to understand?" a deep voice murmured next to him, and a pair of glittering blue eyes matched his own, watching him curiously. It took Harry a moment to realize that it wasn't the lights playing tricks on him: the champion had bleach-white hair. The teenager sipped at his drink, gazing at Harry in semi-fascination. He shrugged. "No one knew what to think of you. Now they do."

"And how is it that they think of me now?" asked Harry, staring out into the room.

The strange champion shrugged again. "Not as a child," came the cryptic answer, "at least, not anymore. You have a chance now, I think. You didn't before. No one would allow a child to beat them."

"Then… everything… everything was set up?" The champion nodded indifferently and Harry began to feel very much used, a feeling he detested.

"How else would they know?" the champion asked philosophically. He gestured to the room. "It was insulting to be paired against so young a student. But now they--we--know better about you, Harry Potter." Those blue eyes looked and locked with Harry's own. "It was not all a game. If you had been a child, you would have lost tonight. Felix, with all his passion, would have drawn the most out of you and you would have lost. But you are not, so even he could not."

The champion gestured expansively to the room. "Now you are welcome as a champion. Do as you like with it," he said with a soft undertone of sourness. After that, the champion stood and walked away, leaving Harry alone and waiting for something. When drinks came floating by on trays, he didn't hold back from picking one up.

…

"You're drunk!" said Ginny shrilly, the very suggestion of it scandalous. Her voice echoed loudly in the night, like a twilight hunting bird. It would be dawn in only a few hours and her eyes were dry, scratchy from keeping up watch.

Harry, who'd paused in the doorway to ease his stumbling, looked up at her with equally raw eyes. "I am not," he denied calmly, taking a few dry swallows, "I didn't drink at all." He wasn't a very good liar; his forehead was covered in sweat and his eyes were completely unfocused. Ginny wasn't convinced at all, mostly because her older brothers had come home often enough for her to learn how to pick out the signs.

Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest. "I sure you look that way out of choice." He gave Harry's shoulder an unfriendly shove, sending the teen flying back against the wall and, hitting it, Harry slid down to the floor bonelessly. For a moment Ginny saw angry emotions chase across the Slytherin's face, then all was wiped clean again as he said, "I'm sure there was a good reason for you to start chumming up with the other champions. I would like to think that you've been stealing secrets, that you've used this opportunity to catalogue weaknesses-"

On the floor, Harry laughed softly. It was a cold laugh, made the worse by the face that he had his face tipped down. All Ginny could see was a faint shadowy impression of his face. Gouges of black where the eyes should be. A sharp line in place of a nose.

"You felt it," Harry wheezed softly, so quietly that Ginny almost didn't hear. "You felt it!" He slapped a hand down violently, making Ginny start. "That proves it--you liar, Malfoy. I trusted you." He began laughing again as if such a statement were amusing.

Malfoy didn't take to the sound very well, looking just about ready to start physically assailing the boy. He'd entirely forgotten about her. "Shut up, Potter. Shut up! You've been missing for half the night--Granger and her boyfriend Weasley are out looking for you right now. Tell me where you've been!"

The laughter, however, didn't stop. It only went deeper, as if Harry was retreating away and the sound was becoming fainter for it.

Ginny had frozen to watch the interchange, unable to help herself; something about Malfoy was controlling Harry, she was sure of it, and this was a rare chance to find out what. But now she shook herself awake and took a bold step forward, separating the two and gently tipping Harry's face up to the light. Just seeing his face, cleared up by torchlight fire, made her let out a soft sigh of release. It was Harry, not some strange shadow creature made of darkness. His eyes, if opened, would be a brilliant green.

To Malfoy, she sent a dark glare. "Knock it off," she ordered. "Harry's drunk. He can't even stand up--no thanks to your shoving him!"

The Slytherin sneered at her and turned sharply, going back down the hall.

"What a child," she murmured after his back, eyes narrowed spitefully and lips curled. "He can't get what he wants, so he goes and storms off to his bedroom."

The body beneath her hands shifted a little, Harry peeking his eyes open. He'd stopped laughing and was instead looking up as if there were something truly magnificent on the ceiling. But his eyes were still unfocused.

Ginny sighed again. "Come on, Harry," she encouraged, struggling to get him back to a sitting position and planning to get him to his feet from there. "We should get you to bed."

"Is Hermione really out there?" he asked suddenly, voice surprisingly clear.

Ginny gave a little jump at the sound. She looked at him suspiciously, trying to gauge his drunkenness. "Yes," came the slow answer, "and Ron. They went out looking for you awhile ago. I stayed here in case you came back, or else I'd be out there, too."

Green eyes rolled. "I suppose that's supposed to mean something to me." Before she could reply to that, Harry heavily pulled himself up to his feet, leaning onto the wall for support as he looked around the apartment. "What time is it?"

She opened her mouth to answer but he shook his head. "Never mind. Don't answer that. I don't want to know." And he stumbled over to the main room, falling gracelessly onto a couch. A moment later, heavy breathing assured her that he was sleeping where he fell.

Ginny crossed her arms, rubbing her skin to warm it up, and waited by the door for her two friends to come back. She watched him, completely confused and not sure if she should be doing anything; when Hermione quietly knocked at the door, Ginny nearly knocked her over in relief. "He's here," she informed the witch, pointing toward the couch for her brother to see. "He arrived drunk about thirty minutes ago." And she added to that Malfoy's upset behavior.

"Drunk?" Ron exclaimed, picking out the most important piece of information. He threw off his shoes and stomped over to the sleeping teen, giving Harry an incredulous stare. "How did he get drunk?"

"Um, well." Ginny shrugged. "He wasn't in any condition to tell his story. We'll have to wait 'til morning."

…

The hangover the next morning made Harry feel like his head had split in two. He groaned quietly, the world still spinning as it had the night before, making him feel like he'd fallen off a very high cliff.

"Well, good morning." Whoever it was, Harry thought with a vengeance, they were being entirely too cheerful and would have to be punished.

Squinting, he saw shades of red and orange coming in from the windows as the sun rose and felt blinded. He might have groaned again, but the next instant he'd thrown his head back down onto his pillows--alerting himself to the realization that, in fact, he was not laying in his pillows. The cushions beneath his head slapped at him unforgivingly.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the voice counseled a moment too late to be of any real assistance. "You're laying on the couch and it won't handle you flinging yourself onto it."

Whoever it was, and Harry was beginning to think that he should know, the person chuckled and started away. Eyes tightly closed, Harry buried his head as deep as the couch would let him, letting his body collapse and relax completely. But he heard a soft conversation, parts of it at least:

"…now? What about…"

"…Ron'll take care of it… just need to go…"

"I'm trying to sleep," Harry interrupted in what he thought was a loud voice, but being stuffed against the cushions had the effect of his words being muffled, most of them only reflecting back to his ears maliciously.

The conversation paused and steps came up to his couch. Someone touched his forehead, cool hand mercifully putting out the fever of heat. "You're trying to sleep?" she repeated with a touch of humor. "Do you realize what time it is?" Harry grunted, not moving in any other way. "It's morning, Harry. You've already slept. It's time to wake up."

Which was a thing he didn't want to do. Harry smirked a little into the couch. 'Try and make me,' he mentally taunted, resolving to stay where he was all day. With how he was feeling, staying there was the only sensible move.

"You're going to have to wake up sooner or later," another voice pointed out.

Harry slowly rolled over to one side, pulling his face out and towards the room. He wasn't really listening to them; he just felt suffocated so tight up against fabric. Opening his eyes a little showed the world was starting to return to normal, though his head pounded and his brain hurt.

"Listen," he could hear quite plainly now that his head wasn't stuffed up with couch fluff, "let's just do it. If we wait much longer, he'll be out here."

"But how-"

"Drag Harry out if you need to. You can go out somewhere and I'll stall for as long as I can."

"What are you going on about?" Harry asked hazily, voice coming out as more of a low blubber than anything else. He tried to move but stopped when his head nearly came apart. It didn't help that a blanket had been tossed hazardously over him, catching his legs and body from getting up. He bit his lip, pressing his hands hard against his skull and fighting to keep another groan from getting out.

"Harry!" Three blurs appeared before him, slowly drifting into focus as Harry's headache receded to manageable pain. He blinked slowly, forcing himself to sit up and then regretting it as he swayed dangerously forward. A couple hands stopped him, pushing him back against the couch.

"Oh for heaven's sake… here you go." Instantly, Harry felt better and he stared at Hermione, who was pocketing her wand. Ginny and Ron were looking at her in surprise as well and she blushed slightly. "It's just a standard spell," she defended herself staunchly, "and it was in a book in the library. Anyone who wanted to could have found it."

"I didn't think the professors encouraged searching for hangover cures," Ron said to her with a raised eyebrow. "What were you looking at it for, anyway?"

"That's none of your concern, Ronald Weasley."

Harry was beginning to wish for the headache to come back. Then, at least, they made an effort to keep the noise down. He threw the blankets off, wrinkling his nose at seeing himself still fully dressed. His wand poked at his leg painfully from a pocket and he shrugged it out, setting it down on the table before looking up at the three faces in front of him.

They stared a him silently, and Harry could read a determination to force him to speak first. Uncomfortably, Harry finally nodded his head a little toward Hermione. "Thank you."

She beamed at him. "It was no problem, Harry. I would have used it earlier, but-"

"How're you feeling, mate?" Ron interrupted, smirking. "Looks like you had a night."

Harry rubbed at his forehead, remembering. "Yes," he admitted reluctantly. "And no."

"We found out," Hermione continued, a look in her eye that said she was definitely not pleased, "about the party. An Auror told us how all the champions were celebrating. By all accounts, you were probably the first one to get back to your rooms."

"If that's the case, I'm betting that we won't be seeing any of the other champions today," Ginny declared. "If they're all worse than Harry was…"

Harry let his eyes slide close again, the sounds of their voices washing over his ears without being heard. He thought about things he should be remembering, of drunkenly agreeing to attend the training sessions the champions had set up, of drunkenly being introduced to blurred faces and making a fool of himself.

"Harry?"

"Yes?" He looked up to see hopeful expressions on Ginny and Hermione's faces instantly washed off and replaced with would-be casual looks. Alarms went off. Warily, he said, "What is it?"

"Well…" Ginny bit her lip and ringed her fingers together. "It's time for breakfast-"

"That's right!" Hermione injected cheerfully.

"-and we thought that you'd be hungry by now," the younger girl finished with a smile. "Me and Hermione were just on our way out."

…

Ron was just shutting the door when he heard Malfoy moving around. Hiding a grin was harder than he'd imagined, but he did so when the Slytherin entered the large room, looking tired and irritable and definitely unaware of what was going on.

Malfoy shot a glare his way but did nothing worse, which was fine by Ron's standards. All he had to do was keep Malfoy stalled for as long as possible--Hermione had been very confident when she claimed that she only needed a little more time before Harry started relaxing.

"Morning," Ron greeted neutrally, fixing his attention to the floor. He didn't want Malfoy to notice how happy he was.

The Slytherin didn't even react. All Malfoy did was sit down, glancing back down the way he'd come.

Ron bit on his tongue, hard, to keep from smiling brightly. 'Looking for Harry?' he thought viciously at the other teenager. 'He's not here right now--want me to take a message?'

Of course, Malfoy didn't respond to that, but it seemed to Ron that the teenager was looking a little anxious. He bit down on his tongue harder.

'That's right. You know, don't you? Harry's not going to listen to you much longer, you dirty-'

"What's your problem, Weasley?" Malfoy suddenly started, nearly making Ron jump in surprise.

Ron blanched. "What… what do you mean, problem?" he asked meekly, mentally adding that it figures Malfoy could read minds.

The Slytherin rolled his eyes, leaning back into his seat dramatically. "Problem, yes. You've been staring at me for the last few minutes. I'd like to think that you're planning devious plots against my life, but given that you're a Gryffindor, you were probably only in the process of gathering pieces of your torn wits."

Ron flushed an angry red, biting on the inside of his cheek now to keep from doing anything rash. 'Hermione just needs a few more minutes--I can't lose my temper now.'

"So I take it that what I said is true?" Malfoy said with mocking seriousness. "Lost your train of thought, did you, Weasley? Need any help finding where you've put your brain?" He waved magnanimously towards the door. "I'd start over in that direction. It's undoubtedly trying to escape."

"Think you're clever, do you, Malfoy?" Ron bit out through his locked jaw.

Malfoy pretended to think a moment, then nodded gravely. "I do."

"Right?" And in that word, Ron packed all his hate and animosity for the other boy. He glared, arms crossing severely above his chest.

Malfoy laughed scornfully, shaking his head. "Weasley," he said with a hint of a smirk on his face, "you wound me."

"I'd do worse if I could," snarled Ron meaningfully, glaring still. He wished for a clock, wished to know exactly how much longer he'd have to suffer alone, and mentally cursed Hermione at the same time. 'You made it sound so easy: just keep Malfoy busy during breakfast. Make sure he doesn't suspect anything. Don't let him leave. Right. I'd like to see you deal with him.'

"I'm sure you would," the Slytherin acknowledged airily, glancing down the hall again. He arched an eyebrow as he looked back at Ron. "Don't tell me you're the only one awake?"

Ron sneered at him. "Oh no, Malfoy, everyone else is awake. They just stepped out for breakfast and left me behind." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he'd bitten his tongue off.

But Malfoy only rolled his eyes again. "Don't try to be clever, Weasley," he advised dryly. "You come off more stupid than sarcastic."

"Like I care," Ron shot back, struggling to keep the relief out of his voice. He smirked at Malfoy. 'I'm more clever than you think.'

"It's strange not to wake up with you and Granger warming the couches," observed Malfoy. He looked to be settling on to the couch for a wait, a wait that Ron hoped to make as long as possible. "At first it was unsettling to see Gryffindors so early, but I've since become comfortable with the thought."

He paused, giving Ron a curious look. "Aren't you curious," he asked, "to know what's stopped me from cursing you three each time I come down?"

"Most definitely," Ron answered, waiting a second before adding, "not."

As if he hadn't heard the complete sentence, Malfoy went on saying, "I suppose that, ever since I began thinking of you Gryffindors as my own private guard, I've been fine with having you around-"

"What?" Ron nearly shouted, sitting up straight. "We're not your bodyguards!"

Malfoy tipped his head to the side thoughtfully. "No," he admitted reluctantly, "I don't think that anymore. Now, I consider you three more as victims to slow any attacker down long enough for me to get away. After all, not even the first-year Slytherins are intimidated by you. I'd suggest a few tips, but you're so far behind that I wouldn't know where to begin."

Grinding his teeth, Ron slumped back into the chair. He was beginning to understand that as long as Malfoy was stalled, the morning was going to pass by much slower for him. But when an owl appeared to peck irritable at the windows, Ron wasn't the least bit prepared for what its message was.

He opened the window and obediently pulled the owl's parchment from its talons, careful not to scratch himself. The bird hooted once disapprovingly and took off, white wings flaying the sun's bright rays. Ron shut the window, holding the letter with a curious expression. He frowned briefly. 'Who's this from? I didn't recognize that owl…'

"Well?" Malfoy abruptly reminded Ron of his presence. Ron nearly yelped with surprise and the Slytherin rolled his eyes, donning a long-suffering expression. "It's a letter, Weasley. Traditionally, wizards use owls to send them--why don't you open it from the uncreased side?"

"Shut up," Ron replied thoughtlessly, already opening the letter and skimming its message. His face soon paled. "Great… this is just great…" Malfoy looked as though his interest was piqued, but Ron didn't really think about the boy he was supposed to be stalling. The only thought on his mind was that Hermione really, _really_ needed to know this. "Figures. McGonagall can never just give us a break."

He rubbed at his forehead and headed towards the door, slipping his shoes on.

Malfoy stood as well, eyes narrowing slightly. "Bad news, Weasley?" he asked, arms crossing over his chest. Ron didn't answer, shrugging on his school robes, and Malfoy added, "Where are you going?"

"Hermione," Ron answered dully, glancing at the letter again. He sighed and shoved it into a pocket. "She's not going to believe this--I could have sworn that McGonagall said-"

"And isn't Granger in her room?"

Ron sent the Slytherin a hard look, pausing just as he opened the door. "Listen," he shot out nastily, "I really don't have time for this. McGonagall just sent me this-" and he violently jerked the letter from his pocket, waving it around for good measure, "-which basically says that we're going to have to give up our _summer_ vacation to make up for our O.W.L.s! Do you know how much I was looking forward to not having to do them? I mean, telling us now is just murder! She let us believe that we'd gotten off easy!"

He threw the parchment back into his pocket, nearly punching it down in his anger, and stomped out the door. The whole way to the Great Hall was spent with him muttering darkly under his breath, cursing Transfiguration professors and standardized tests alike until he walked into the large dining area and found his three fellow students talking quietly.

Hermione and Ginny were talking, that is, and Harry looked like he was simply listening.

Ron stomped up to them and threw the letter out onto the table, not caring where it landed. It could float to the bottom of the water pitcher for all he cared, and he made sure everyone in the nearby area knew so.

"-just this morning, Hermione!" bellowed Ron, stabbing an angry finger at the offending paper. "_O.W.L.s_! We have to take out _O.W.L.s_!"

Hermione watched him with wide, surprised eyes, but when Ron stopped for breath, he realized that it wasn't him she was looking at. Ginny was looking past him as well, but she sent him a dark glare.

"What?" Ron asked in a lower, more reasonable voice. His forehead wrinkled and he motioned to the letter again. "Come on, this is serious. Hermione? Say something?"

She cleared her throat delicately and, looking behind his shoulder, calmly said, "Good morning, Malfoy. I didn't know you were up."

…

"All right," someone began, "why don't we start beginning stunning spells?"

There were many groans to that. We're all used to that, someone complained, and we need to start spells we're not good at instead of just polishing up our old skills.

Harry slipped in through the door, making sure it didn't bang shut behind him. The champions had all gathered in someone's apartment, one magically enlarged as to be classroom-sized and big enough to fit so many students trying so many spells. A few of the champions eyed him as he walked in, but did nothing else than to give him acknowledging nods or small welcoming waves.

He quickly slid into an open spot. All the teens seemed to have split into a few small, random groups with no clear distinction between them. They just seemed to mill around, moving from group to group, moving to see what the others were doing and staying when it was something interesting. He pulled out his wand, moving into the same position as the girl to his right. She gave him a quick, encouraging smile which was very unnerving after being practically persecuted before.

"Fine," the leading student of the group started again, "then what do you want to practice?"

"What kind of dark creatures are we going to be facing?" one witch asked smartly. "We should practice spells that can be used against those types of creatures."

"Hags," someone suggested. "Vampires. Werewolves. Mummies. Dementors."

Those creatures, Harry recognized, didn't require spells so much as protection when fighting against them. You wore garlic and carried a cross when you thought you'd encounter a vampire--most magic wouldn't work. Werewolves were equally resistant to spells, giving way only against silver. Besides that fact, werewolves were only dangerous one night of the month.

'Dementors, though.' Harry paused to think, trying to remember some spell he'd once learned to fight off the creatures. He couldn't, and felt of flush of irritation for the failure.

"What about acromantulas?" asked another of the witches. The questions were all coming from a specific part of the group and, leaning forward, Harry realized that his single circle was actually joined at the far end by a standing of witches. They seemed to have separated themselves from the others, five or six of them, and were nearly huddling together. Eachna was one of them, he recognized with a start.

"What about them?" a witch near Harry challenged haughtily. She had long, long hair braided down her back, but had pulled the rope over one shoulder to play at. "Do you honestly think that the Ministry will set such dangerous creatures on us?"

"Do you really think," said the girl who'd asked, "that the Ministry will poison us?"

There was a slightly uncomfortable silence after that until the leading student cleared his throat. "Right," he said brightly, "I think there's a point there. We're the best of the European schools, and we're a deal better than anywhere else in the world-"

"They haven't had to deal with war," someone muttered darkly.

"-So I don't think the Ministry will be pulling any punches." The leading champion cleared his throat again, peering around the group. "We might as well pull out our creature encyclopedias and just start from the beginning. A lot of creatures can be dealt with the same way, so it won't be a complete waste of time, and this way we cover all eventualities."

"It will be a complete waste of time," the witch near Harry muttered lowly.

Harry stared forward, wondering if the champions were always like this. He expected uniform friendship, a completeness to the group, not petty divisions. He glanced at the witch, curious, and found himself asking, "Why?"

She gave him a hard look. "Why what?"

"Why will it be a waste of time?" Harry noticed that some of the closer champions were looking at him as well, and he fought against an embarrassed flush to add, "The vampires, hags, werewolves--they're not really dark _creatures_. They're more like a different species." He shrugged, trying to fake casualness. "They said we're going against creatures, and even the Ministries have recognized that thinking humanoids aren't simply animals."

'It had taken them a long time to do so,' he knew with a touch of bitterness, 'and they're still not anywhere close to being on equal terms.' He could remember hiding out on the full moon just to catch of glimpse of Remus's werewolf form, reminding himself of his father's animagi adventures.

"But, acromantulas?" The witch wrinkled her nose. "What's so hard about defeating them?"

Harry shrugged again, not quite meeting her eyes. The answer was obvious to him, but she was sounding a little testy. It wouldn't do to make her look like an idiot. It also wasn't completely possible.

"Who's to say?" someone else answered airily. It was a teenage boy with short blond hair, staring right at Harry. Harry shifted uncomfortably; it felt like his thoughts were being read, and easily done so. The teenager let a slightly-mocking smile appear faintly on his face. "Acromantulas might not be so scary, but the Ministry will take steps to fix that. Imagine facing the spider twice its normal size, impervious to spells, and fast as a cheetah."

His words met a shocked silence. The entire group had, at some point, crowded together into a tighter circle, leaving the other separate groups to wonder what they were talking about.

One blonde witch cautiously asked, "You don't think they'll do that, do you?"

The teenager shrugged carelessly. "Who knows."

"I don't think so," Harry declared with quiet firmness, giving the witch a steady look. "I think that they'll simply find us more dangerous creatures, not invent some on the spot. But… it's something to keep in mind."

"Right," said the witch who'd started the whole discussion. She pushed her long braid over to her back and clapped her hands together determinedly. Her eyes glanced around and came back, a little annoyed. "Well? Where's that encyclopedia?"

"Here," a wizard answered, and Harry was startled to come face-to-face with the white-haired champion from the night before. The champion didn't look twice at Harry, though, only handing up a book that hadn't been there a minute before to the leading student.

"Ah," the leading student said to the braided witch with false seriousness, "so you agree with the rest of us, now?"

The girl with the braid shrugged with a disdainful expression on her face. "I was convinced, yes, but that doesn't mean I can't be _un_convinced." She twirled her wand in her fingers, traces of boredom beginning to settle in her face. After only a few more moments, she simply walked off, joining another group.

As Harry watched her go, the white-haired, blue-eyed champion quietly moved to stand next to him. "Don't worry about her. She'll be back once she realizes that our group is the only one getting prepared."

"Our group?" Harry repeated, turning to stare at the other boy.

He nodded slowly. "We've formed one--fewer of the others are coming, fewer of ours are leaving. It will be a shaky alliance, but it will be one."

Harry gave him a confused look. "I'm not sure I understand," he confessed politely. "This isn't a group competition-"

"No, but you didn't think you could win this competition on your own, did you?"

Harry's mouth dried up at the echo of Hermione's words, and he barely kept from blanching.

The blue-eyed champion continued softly, "We'll work together to make sure the ones not in our group don't win--to make sure there isn't so much competition and to better know the ones who remain. Then, as in any race, we'll each sprint at the end, only the best remaining and each trying their hardest to win. But only at the end."

Harry looked at the group gathered around him, at the other champions that had settled into the area. Eachna and her group of witches seemed to have moved off, joining with another small group--there were, Harry counted, five of the groups all together.

"If that's true," he started lowly, "then why be in any group? At the end, it won't matter-"

"No, it won't," the champion agreed firmly, "but then again, all that matters is that you get to the end."

"All right, then," the leading student began loudly, calling the group's attention and effectively ending the dozens of quiet conversations that had gone on. He smiled brightly. "So, I guess this is it. How many do we have?"

"There are ten of us," one witch supplied. She had an anxious expression on her face, which only emphasized her gray eyes against her red hair. In an almost frightened voice, she added, "We're the second-largest group!"

The leader shrugged expansively, his pale face unworried. "It only means that we have that much better a chance to win." He looked around again. "Why don't we begin?" He opened the encyclopedia, and they began.

…

It was the middle of October by the time everything had been prepared, and Leo was more than ready to simply take things into his own hands, to just leave and get things done the way he'd planned. After all, it had been weeks since permission had been granted--he wasn't used to waiting so long.

With the same nervous energy of a pent-up feline, Leo paced in front of the door. His short legs only carried him so fast, but he made up for it with the sheer irritation evident in his features. Pausing, Leo held himself in front of the door and slowly began to open it, letting out a crack of hot air to stir up his hair. There was the smell of hundreds of bodies locked up in the same room for him to contend with, the sounds of dozens of little, whispered conversations beneath the loud booming of a fanatic wizard at the other end of the hall. No one noticed his intrusion; most of the attention was locked on that single announcing wizard, on the announcement of the nearing beginning for the monthly task. Everyone knew what it was by now--even Leo had been told that the champions were going to be given creatures to tame. The wizard was simply announcing that the task would start this week. He shouldn't be taking so long.

Even if they did notice, Leo only held the door open a moment before letting it quietly bang shut.

"This is taking forever," groaned the little wizard, letting his head swivel back impatiently.

His bodyguards chuckled to themselves and Leo allowed one of them to gently pull him away from the door and his pacing, over a few feet to where the majority of Aurors were waiting patiently for their turn to enter the dining hall. Most were involved in card games, huddled together to keep the light breeze from disturbing their play.

They looked up as one to his approach and grinned, motioning for him to join them, but Leo only grumpily stalked off to the far edge of the group. The Auror standing there, watching the grounds, was one of the team permanently assigned to Leo's protection and had known him since he was just a baby.

The Auror smiled faintly down at the boy. "Bored?" asked the wizard teasingly.

Leo sighed again and crossed his arms over his chest. "They're still talking in there," he complained.

His friend shook his head. "I told you. They'll be awhile, no matter who's waiting out on them."

"Can't someone make them go faster?"

"Yes." The Auror looked faintly amused. "You only have to go in and they'll be done."

"I don't want to do that." He looked abashed. "I don't want to interrupt them. I just want my turn to start already." In truth, Leo wanted nothing more than to march inside and demand that his turn for being announced come. No one inside knew that Leonard Potter had come to visit his brother. All arrangements had been in absolute secrecy, despite Leo's wish that everyone know. He didn't see why he had to sneak around to visit Harry--even Sirius's explanation that, if anyone else knew, the school would be overrun by well-wishers, was almost not enough.

But, as much as he wanted the festivities to begin, he couldn't just march in like the Auror suggested. Everything had been planned down to the last minute. If he went in early, then the party would be ruined. Everything was hinging on the fact that, as soon as the wizards inside were done, they'd give the signal drop the anti-apparation barriers, and as soon as that was done dozens of waiting wizards and witches would pop in with the decorations, food, and lights. If he went in early, he'd ruined the elaborate surprise.

Still… Leo crossed his arms tighter, frowning deeper. "What more do they have to talk about?" he asked sourly. "I only listened for awhile and all they're doing is repeating themselves."

The Auror laughed, ruffling Leo's hair in a familiar expression of affection. "It's the way the ministry works," he informed Leo with a sly look and a wink. "They talk until they're blue in the face, saying the same thing over and over again, just so that they can get away without doing any actual work. Anything they really have to do, they just assign to people below them."

Leo's attention faded to watching the other wizards playing their game and he was almost tempted to join them. But only a few weeks ago, the _Prophet_ had published a small article about Leo considering his bodyguards as family. Most of the replies had been as usual, gushing letters full of love and praise; but one of them had really stuck him badly. It had been nothing other than a mocking letter, scorning Leo for "fraternizing with the help." Since then, he'd done his best to keep a respectful distance with all the Aurors except for his small group of life-timers.

"Why don't you go walk in the gardens?" suggested the Auror calmly, motioning to said nearby woods. "I've heard them brag about the live statues in there and the tall trees."

Leo made a face. "Who cares about trees?" he asked. "They only get taller and taller. And I don't think statues in a garden could be better than the ones on display in the museum."

The older wizard laughed and conceded the point.

They were both still looking towards the gardens when the headmistress briskly walked out of them, returning to the school after having secured the arrangements about the lifting of the school barriers. It was the first time Leo had seen her. It was also the first time he'd ever seen such a large person.

Without shame, he stared at her, mouth open and eyes wide, tracking her progress as she came closer and finally passed them, doing her best to squeeze through a small opening in the doors and enter the dining hall.

She had been huge! Enormous! Larger than any person had the right to be, and she left Leo with boggled eyes. As soon as she'd gone inside the hall, Leo tugged on his guard's robes, and quietly whispered, "How did she so big?" His forehead was wrinkled with bewilderment. "I didn't think anyone could be so huge!"

Chuckling, the wizard explained, "Headmistress Maxine has some interesting history. We're certain that she's half-giant, but she'll never confess to it."

Shocked, Leo repeated, "Half-giant? But I thought-"

"She's ashamed to admit it so it's likely she wishes it wasn't true. The giants are evil monsters, you know, but she's set up a good school here and she's turned her back on her heritage." The Auror gave him a meaningful look. "She can't help who her parents were--she probably hates them for what they made--but she's doing the best she can to make sure her students know that she's not fond of half-breeds. The Beauxbatons magical creature program is one of the best on the continent--most informative."

He quivered, mind filled with Sirius's tales of giants that tore up hills and threw them like marbles, giants that gobbled up handfuls of people with a single swallow. "I can trust her, then?" asked Leo hesitantly, feeling that this most certainly wasn't the case.

The Auror gave the doors that the headmistress had disappeared through a look-over. "We'll be watching her."

"Master Leonard," a witch began formally, having come up to the pair while neither had noticed. At least, Leo hadn't noticed her. The Auror beside him undoubtedly had. She held her head back proudly and her lips pressed together when she wasn't speaking, but the nervousness in her face and the way her eyes darted about were very familiar signs of awe.

He liked her.

She was probably a professor, which meant that the speeches were almost done. She would have been sent out here to make sure he was ready to enter as soon as the party began.

Leo smiled politely back to her, head tipping forward the slightest, and the Auror next to him put an approving hand on his shoulder. The Aurors closest to him had started lessons in formality, saying that any from a house as ancient as the Potters needed to learn how to handle people. Never too stiff, never too familiar.

"We 'r' proud to welcome you to Beauxbatons." Her hands spread out elegantly, encompassing the entire area and causing the dozens of jewels hanging from her silk dress to jingle expensively. "May this be a zecond 'ome to you."

Relaxing a little, Leo answered, "I'm sure it will."

"We are setting an extra squad of Aurors along the school," his guard informed the professor bluntly, "and these are specially trained units. The old squad is being rotated back to London. Hopefully, there won't be any mishaps, especially while Leonard is visiting and even after."

"If there is," she replied coolly, "then it iz not the fault of Beauxbatons nor the fault of France. We did not provide those Aurors."

"England will take care of what happened, and will take care it does not happen again."

Sensing the temperature falling between the two adults, Leo interrupted their conversation with a smile. "It's almost time?" he asked lightly, putting up an image of childish enthusiasm. She told him it was, and Leo asked where he should look for his brother.

Harry's name brought a chuckle from the woman, and she rolled her eyes as she said, "'Arry Potter usually refuses to eat with za rest of uz." She rolled her wrist dismissively. "I do not think last month's task made 'im too 'appy."

"Poisoning does that to a person," Leo came back cheekily, his grin chipped and his eyes a little narrowed. His Auror guard tensed visibly and Leo quickly cooled the situation. "But is he eating here tonight?"

The professor nodded reluctantly. "He and ze others from 'Ogwarts sit very close to ze door. You will 'ave no trouble, Master Leonard, in seeing him as soon as you walk in." She glanced towards the dining hall as if mentally timing herself, probably keeping a countdown until the anti-apparation barriers were dropped and judging that she still had a few more minutes because she turned back to him with a gracious smile on her face. "I 'ope you will 'ave a good time 'ere, Master Leonard, and I know you will be honored during your stay."

Leo glanced around, feeling a thrill of anticipation running through him. He would be seeing Harry again after two months apart, and he would bring a party large enough to go down in the school's history. As if sharing his thrill, the gaming Aurors had put everything away and were stalking around excitedly, whispering hurriedly to each other. One approached Leo, but stopped at the professor with a look on his face.

"I've heard that you've set aside special rooms for Leonard to use," the new Auror stated, startling the French professor. "Mind telling us where it is? We'd like to have it checked first."

At the first sentence, she looked willingly enough to lead them herself, but his last words caused her to flush white. She huffed indignantly. "What 're you saying?" she demanded, face stormy. "We 'r not tryin' to 'urt Leonard Potter. We would not allow anything to 'appen to 'im while 'e iz 'ere at Beauxbatons!"

While the two got caught up in another argument, her spitting out words half in French, half in English, and him coming up with Ministry-backed threats, Leo casually waited beside the door. It was almost time. It was almost time. The thought ran through his head over and over again.

The other Aurors who had been on watch started coming back from their hidden places between shadows, all of them part of the special guard and all of them grinning broadly as they passed him. One asked if he was excited and laughed at Leo's answering smile.

It wasn't much longer before the wizards inside were finished. Leo was set next to the door, peering through an opened crack as before and waiting for the last words to be said. He scanned the nearby area, looking for his brother, and froze when he saw the dark-headed teen surrounded by a small group. They were obviously separated from everyone else, at the far end of a far table and closed away by a half-dozen empty seats.

'Malfoys and Weasleys,' Leo identified automatically, a little stunned. The two families, as he understood, weren't friends by a long shot. 'Why's Harry hanging around with a Malfoy? That other girl, who is she? I don't recognize her.'

A hand tapped his shoulder. "It's time," his Auror friend whispered in his ear, at the same time the announcing wizard ended his last words. The dining hall gave a little shudder, the result of so many barriers being lifted, and there were so many apparation pops that it sounded like fireworks going off above the tables.

"Leonard Potter!" someone announced madly, and Leo walked inside, grinning at the sight of his brother whirling around and nearly falling to the ground as much as at the sight of the other hundreds of eyes doing the same thing. And the party began.

**...**

Author's Notes posted at the yahoo group, The Blue Hour, linked on my bio page.


	21. Chapter XX

**Fugitive Prince**

Written by March Madness, Beta-read by Maria Rosenfire

_For a brief instant he considered resistance, and then one of the men raised up a pistol of his owned and trained it on Damien's face. Point blank. He stared down the cool steel barrel in utter despair, icy water swirling about his ankles as the other man yanked his sword from his hand, his knife from his belt, anything and everything that might be used aggressively from his person. If he had been stripped of his clothes in front of all these men, he could not possibly have felt more naked._

When True Night Falls, C. S. Friedman

**Chapter XX**

Harry walked down the hall, pausing every so often to note some significant difference since the last time he'd been there. He seriously doubted that Sirius would appreciate the irony of the situation: in preparing a "special" room for the visiting Leonard Potter, the headmistress had placed the whole visiting company in the same apartments that had been used by the visiting school governors weeks before. Sirius would be very displeased to learn that he was, in all likelihood, sleeping in the same bed used by Lucius Malfoy.

'Very appropriate, nonetheless,' Harry noted with a slow satisfaction, as if he'd arranged it all himself. He, if no one else, appreciated the irony.

It was early morning, the peculiar time of day in which it was both too early and too late to get anything done. Still, Harry found himself sneaking back down the hall as he had just thirty minutes before, creeping like a thief to stand next to Leo's door and hear the soft, deep breathing of his younger brother.

He sighed and leaned weakly against the door, resisting the temptation to look inside to make sure that Leo was safe. It seemed unreal to have his brother so close after the months of separation. Those months had been the only time Leo had ever been more than a few rooms away in the boys' entire lives together. Having Leo back again made Harry realize just how desperately he had missed his younger brother.

'He had better be safe at home,' thought Harry darkly, letting his hands close into helpless fists at the remembrance that he'd never know for sure. 'They better watch him, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid--make sure no one gets close enough to do anything stupid.'

His watch lasted a few more minutes and then he crept away, walking back to his own room with a sort of aimless gait. He couldn't sleep--not with Leo so close after so long and without having talked with the boy yet--but he couldn't do anything, either, until Leo woke up. Which would still be hours from now.

Sighing again, Harry entered his own room--the same room Lucius Malfoy had invited him to stay in those first few nights on the French campus--and curled up on his bed, wrapping his arms around his chest and staring into the blackness with a haunted expression. He swallowed, worried by nameless thoughts and fears. Irrationally, he wondered if he'd have to make the antidote again, if the Ministers might try to poison Leo, simply to prove that the Boy Who Lived could survive the situation most of the champions were complaining about. He wondered if Leo's visit was worth it, if it wasn't a better idea for his brother to simply stay out of harm's way instead of inviting danger, which was precisely what the visit seemed to be doing.

Within a few minutes, his feet were whispering back down the hall again, moved by nervous fear for his brother.

By the time the sun came out and the time was more suitable for rising, Harry was red-eyed and weary, standing just outside his door to make it look as though he'd just awakened.

The night before, the party had lasted until midnight. Aurors had hushed Leo up to the apartments, lazily remembering the two guardians and brother that were supposed to go with him and commanding the three into separate rooms. On one hand, being unable to talk with Leo had been a good thing: the way that he'd been rushed to his room, Harry had only caught a glimpse of his godfather before closing the door behind him. The Auror had seemed distant, closed-off, but Harry was sure that, had time permitted, Sirius would have tried to have another talk, one that inevitably would have summoned the Aurors when it became too heated.

Standing outside his door, Harry thought hard about his godfather, unknowingly letting his chin fall sleepily to his chest. He was lightly snoozing when the footsteps shook him awake and thought for a moment that his godfather was walking toward him. Jerking upright, realizing too late that he'd been dreaming about Sirius's angry face and not really seeing it, Harry blinked away the crustiness sticking to his eyelashes in time to see Remus looking at him oddly.

That was a face he didn't mind seeing. Smiling faintly, Harry said, "Good morning, Remus. I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to say hello last night." Hesitantly, he added, "I've missed you."

The werewolf smiled back brightly and let out a disbelieving sound from the back of his throat. "Missed me?" repeated Remus playfully. "Is that even possible? You looked ready to leave and never come back when I left you at the train station. And it sounds like you've had enough to keep you busy."

Harry smiled deeper, feeling a surge of affection to the man before him. Remus had been the one who'd been there since childhood; he seemed more like a godfather than Sirius ever had. When Remus nodded towards the building's exit, Harry happily matched Remus' step and walked outside. There weren't many others out and about, despite Harry having been awake for hours. It was still early morning, barely late enough to serve breakfast.

"There have been a few things going on," Harry admitted as they walked. Dew, having settled heavy overnight, soaked into his shoes and made his socks squish uncomfortably until Remus banished the water away. He grimaced. "I should have thought of that before we left."

Remus's feet were, unsurprisingly, still dry, and when he saw Harry giving them a look, he smiled lightly. "Experience taught me to be prepared. Wet feet in the morning are an experience I don't like repeating."

When Harry's parents had been out, leaving Remus in charge, the werewolf usually tried to teach him something, tried to get him to learn a piece of valuable information. At first, it had been small, practical things: never leave the house without knowing of a nearby shelter, in case of weather or attack; always keep your wand with you; pay attention to your surroundings. No one could have guessed that the Death Eaters were saying the same things. But as Harry grew older and the war worsened, Remus had contributed to Lily and James's magical teachings by adding his own lessons, making sure Harry was firm on the spells that mattered most. The summoning charm. The shield spell. Anything that would make a difference.

Sometimes, it seemed like the wizard fell back on his old habits.

Carefully, Remus explained a spell that was specifically for protecting against the water and added that it would do well on eyeglasses in the rain. Harry recognized it immediately and showed his proficiency, to Remus's delight, and they walked on.

Harry looked at him from the corner of his eyes, making it appear as if he wasn't doing so. 'The Ministry thinks werewolves are animals,' he remembered reluctantly. 'It's why Remus really isn't my godfather.' He bit the inside of his lip, looking away. 'They're wrong, just like they always are. Didn't one of the Death Eaters once say something about werewolves? I wonder if Remus knows how the Death Eaters treated werewolves…'

"Well?" interrupted Remus. Harry looked up guiltily, wondering if the wizard had any idea of what he'd been thinking about. After a moment, Remus slowly added, "If you don't want to talk about the tournament, you don't have to-"

"Oh!" Harry blinked. "The tournament? What about it?"

Remus gave him a measured look and easily replied, "Anything. We're here to visit you, after all, and anything you want to say will be interesting." He let his hands slip into his pockets, giving Harry a look. "The Ministry has been keeping a tight lid on the press, for once. They only announce things after the fact, with all the details sketchy at best. It's likely that everything you tell me will be news."

'Some things might be more surprising than others,' Harry mentally warned, unable to say the words aloud. But verbally, he disagreed. "You still have connections with the Ministry. You probably know more about what happened, exactly, than even I do. Everyone assumes I know what's going on, but it's all a blur to me--everything went by so fast, I didn't have any time to think." He frowned a little. "The Aurors haven't told us anything. The only news we have comes from the Prophet."

Remus laughed at the sour expression on his face, softening the sound by saying, "Then you're in the same situation as the rest of the world, Harry. Don't be so snide about it." He smiled again, the conversation having propelled them to the door of the dining hall and to breakfast. "Maybe we'll both get lucky and there'll be a press leak in today's issue."

As they ate, though, Harry's thoughts unwillingly returned to his brother, making him uncomfortable. It was irrational. There were at least a dozen Aurors placed around the area. Nothing could hurt him here.

'But it's the Aurors,' he decided after a moment's thought. 'They're the ones making me so uncomfortable.' Just the thought of Leo sleeping, totally vulnerable, with a hundred Aurors all lurking over him, all with sinister expressions on their faces…

"Hey, Harry, aren't those your friends?" asked Remus between bites, pointing back towards the door. Against Harry's usual tradition of sitting as close to the door as possible, Remus had taken them both to a spot in the middle of the room where the best lighting was, and it seemed like his choice had turned out to be strangely fortunate. This way, Harry got to see Hermione and Ginny before they saw him. And he was warned by the look on Draco's face before the Slytherin had been able to sneak up and punch him.

Harry nodded slowly, watching as their eyes slowly recognized him. Ron was the first one to see him. He pointed Harry out for Ginny and Hermione to see, looking very uneasy about the fact that Draco could also benefit.

"I suppose they'd like to sit with us," Remus said brightly, looking around to make sure there were seats for everyone.

"No," Harry hurriedly said, giving the group one last hard look. He shook his head and repeated, "No, they wouldn't. They're going to be upset with me because I didn't say anything before leaving last night." Draco in particular, Harry thought. "I'd better get up and talk with them before anything gets worse."

Something in his expression must have made him out as being reluctant to face his upset friends because Remus gave him a little, encouraging laugh and motioned for him to go on. "The sooner the better," he advised sagely. "When I had fights with my friends, it always seemed like the longer I dragged it on, the more things I had to do to make up for."

Sometimes, Harry decided a little bitterly, Remus shouldn't try to give out so much advice.

He stood up and started for the group, noticing how they all stiffened as he approached and how they all gave him vaguely expectant looks. Even Ron seemed as if he was ready for Harry to throw himself to the floor with some sniveling explanation.

Disgusted, Harry walked up to the group--and walked by.

'I shouldn't have left Remus alone,' he thought as he walked out the doors. 'Aurors aren't kind with werewolves.'

The image of Draco's outraged expression lingered for a moment, satisfying Harry in a dark fashion, but that was soon forced out by Harry's intent to check on his brother. Leo should be awake by now. He should be getting breakfast--there wasn't enough time in the day for Harry to do everything he wanted. He wanted to play Quidditch again, to talk again, and even to fight again so that Leo could stop him with a look.

If Draco or Hermione tried to yell after him as he walked to Leo's apartments, located on the opposite side of the school from where Harry's usual apartments were, he subconsciously tuned them out.

**…**

"Where's Harry?"

Draco looked up from his book unconcernedly. He was sitting under a large willow tree in the gardens. It was the only section of the place where those blasted statues stayed quiet. Everywhere else, they'd giggle and laugh and tease no matter what you did; here, he only had to give them a dark glare and they froze in fear.

Standing before him was Ginny Weasley.

Draco rolled his eyes and returned to his book, disdainfully replying, "When, _Miss Weasley_, when are you going to understand that I have no pleasure talking to you?"

The girl, however, didn't seem the slightest bit fazed. "Honestly," she continued in an irritatingly pleading voice, "do you have any idea where he is? I looked… I looked in the apartments that he's staying in." And, when Draco raised his eyes to glare at her, she didn't look like she had fun doing so. The guard there probably gave her a hard time, not that it mattered.

"Good for you," he answered snidely.

"Listen, it's almost lunch but no one's seen him or his brother since breakfast. At least, no one will tell me anything-"

"Weasley, I've been asking myself this question over and over, and I might have already asked you but you act as if I didn't, so I might as well as again: why does it matter to you?" Draco gave her a level glance, making sure that she knew he was only addressing her under the severest of conditions and that he'd much rather go back to his book. "You have been hounding Potter since school started, being as bad or worse than either your brother or Granger. Why are you trying so hard?"

And, horribly, Draco found that he honestly wanted to know, something Weasley could probably hear in his voice.

Weasley gave a little, angry pout, nearly shouting back, "What does it matter? I just wanted to know where he is! Is that so much to ask for?"

Rather than waste his breath answering that, Draco calmly returned to his book. He could feel the glare she was throwing him like the feeling of a small ant crawling on his toe, and easily ignored the sensation. When it seemed like she was set on staying there until she received her answer, Draco finally looked back up, annoyance shining brightly in his eyes.

"Leave, Weasley," he ordered shortly, coming to the end of his temper.

She glared. "No."

Draco half-shrugged and rotated around the base of the tree, moving from the front bench to the back one that faced a small, trickling stream. It was a childish gesture, but that was what the girl had reduced him to. He didn't like it, but he wasn't going to just sit there and endure, after all.

His move, though, had the opposite effect than the one he'd hoped for. Instead of huffing up and stomping away, the girl crashed through the long limbs of the willow tree and stormed around the trunk, coming up to face him again. Draco sighed quietly to himself, reluctantly beginning to believe that her Gryffindor stubbornness was intent on showing itself.

"You don't know when to give up," he commented nastily, not looking up from his book. "Granger would have left by now. Even your brother would have done something other than a staring contest-"

"Like hitting you?"

Draco blinked at that, startled enough to look up. She'd put herself back in front of him, cutting off his view of the stream, and her arms were crossed over her chest. Quick to resettle himself, Draco smirked. "Exactly," he agreed with a congratulatory air, as if she'd finally begun to understand the obvious.

"I'm not my brother," the girl began passionately, but, after the short statement, she let out a deep breath and seemed to crumble upon herself. "That's the real reason I want to help Harry. Because he can't remember that his brother isn't everything."

Draco's smirk widened in a deprecating way. "Ah," he started knowingly, "so we have common enemies?"

Quick as a whip, she shot back, "You're beginning to hate Professor Snape?"

He laughed softly and shook his head. "Hate Snape? Why would I do that?" He smiled like a predator, showing all his teeth. "Why get rid of the one professor who will pass me, no matter how hard I try to fail?" He smiled again and shook his head. "No, I was referring to the little Potter, Leo-"

"Harry says that Leonard only like to be called that by his family-"

"Who's here to stop me?" Draco cut in smoothly. He put the book down, sliding a silk bookmark between the pages but keeping his eyes on the Gryffindor girl in front of him. "You? Does it really matter so much--it's not like the brat's here to shut me up himself. I can call him whatever I want."

She was staring at him like the idea had never occurred to her, and Draco found himself choking back a fit of outrageous laughter. 'If only you could see me now,' he thought wistfully to his Slytherin housemates, knowing exactly how they'd react to his fraternizing with the enemy. A Weasley, no less.

He'd given up his fifth year at Hogwarts to attempt a catching of Potter. He'd given up prefect status, all the sweet points he could have taken away from Gryffindor, sacrificed for a plan to capture a perfect… perfect whatever it was that Potter was. Now, the boy was slipping through his hands and, in replacement, he had a little Gryffindor girl who was too stupid to know she was out of her depth.

"We both want to get rid of Leo, don't we?" he tempted her, inwardly smirking at her mesmerized expression. She'd looked the same before, during his confrontation with Potter the first night the boy had started going astray.

Draco swallowed angrily at that reminder. Things had seemed fine at the dinner, and the champions all leaving to go find out what the task was seemed equally harmless. Then Potter had disappeared without a word--not necessarily a harmful situation until, some time into the night, Draco had felt as if something had been cut out of him and instantly knew that Potter had somehow broken out of their agreement. That was confirmed by his refusal to answer questions when Draco had asked.

Even so, nothing had been seriously in jeopardy until last night, when Potter Junior had shown up. Every since that night, Potter had ignored him, leaving the other Gryffindors slightly bewildered as to the sudden change but nothing more since Potter had been ignoring everyone else as well. Draco was still eating with them, still sitting next to Potter, trying to start up a conversation… As soon as that brat walked into the door, when Draco noticed the glazed look in Potter's eyes and the way the boy seemed to forget about everything… that was when he'd started getting worried.

'Keep his brother away,' his father had cautioned, a thing that at the time seemed unnecessary. How would Leonard Potter get to Beauxbatons? When? And why did it really matter? But Draco had learned the hard way that it did matter. Potter hadn't even _really_ looked at him at breakfast.

The girl nodded eagerly and started off on how unhealthy it was. Draco nodded wisely, pretending that her gibberish meant something to him and that he really cared. When she paused and looked up at him, he bit his cheek in surprise but quickly recovered.

"Of course you're right," he told her in a soft, slightly amazed tone. "I'm surprised no one noticed it earlier."

"What do you mean?" she demanded suspiciously.

Draco shrugged expansively. "I mean… Well, Potter seemed… Potter seemed obsessed about his brother from the start of the year," he improvised quickly. "I--I even heard about it in Slytherin. If it's as bad as you say, it's a wonder a professor didn't realize."

She sighed long-sufferingly. "It's because his brother is Leonard," she began, starting up her rant again. "No one wants to think bad about him because of what he's done."

"But that's precisely why we have to be careful," Draco insisted. "He's used to the fame and everyone's used to him having it. I'm beginning to think that the professors would only have realized something was wrong if… if _Harry_ had acted any other way." He smiled sweetly at her.

"He can't be happy this way," she insisted as well, more to herself than anyone, and Draco quickly assured her that she was right. A plan was already forming in his head: separate Potter from his brother and let the girl take the fall if anything went wrong. She seemed determined enough to make a fool of herself. All that energy might as well be put to good use.

"Shall we go, then?" he asked, standing up and slipping his book into a pocket.

She looked startled by the offering. "Go? Where?"

"To find Po--Harry, of course," Draco answered smoothly. She stood up slowly, looking around. "I think that it might be faster to just ask if anyone's seen Leo. He's the one they'll all be looking at, and I doubt Harry's gone far."

She nodded slowly, following as he started to lead her away from the gardens. The statues cowered slightly. "That makes sense," she admitted.

"Of course it does," he couldn't help pointing out.

A short ways away, just out of seeing distance, Hermione watched the two leave the gardens. She jabbed Ron under his arm sharply. "They're leaving," she informed him, eyes not leaving the pair for an instant.

Ron blinked up at her, trying his best to pretend like he'd not been sleeping. "Oh, right." He covered a yawn and added, "Learn anything?"

"Ginny's reasons, I think," replied Hermione tensely, "and to be suspicious of Malfoy, not that it's new. But whenever he calls Harry by his first name, it's a sign that Malfoy's up to something." She stood up and stretched. Crouching behind a bush, she had discovered, was not comfortable at all. Ron, despite being much longer than she was, didn't seem to be having the same problem at all, a fact that made her glare at him enviously. "How can you just squish up like that?"

He shrugged, yawning again. "When you're determined, you can do pretty much anything."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Right. That made a lot of sense." He grinned at her wildly and she couldn't stop from smiling back. "Anyway, they're going to try and find Harry-"

"You already know where he is, don't you?" accused Ron playfully, clued in by the smug expression on her face.

The witch tossed her hair. "Of course I do. He's out by the Quidditch pitch--it'll take them at least an hour to find that out, considering how secretive those Aurors are--so we have plenty of time."

Ron slowly stood up as well, making a show of cracking his spine and straightening his long legs, then gave her a look. "Time?" he repeated. "Time for what? I thought you said you just wanted to spy on Malfoy?"

"But we can do so much more than that, Ron."

She'd started out of the gardens and Ron took a moment to catch up even with his longer legs. "All right," he started slowly, "we have at least an hour by your reckoning. What things are we going to do?"

"First off, I think we should talk with Harry's other guardian, Remus Lupin." She let out a heavy breath of air. "Did you see how friendly Harry was with him?"

Ron paused, grabbing her arm to make her stop, too. "Lupin's a werewolf, Hermione," he informed her gravely. "He does work for the Ministry, locating and moving other dark creatures."

"Maybe he's bitten Harry and that's the reason he's been avoiding us," she replied spitefully, moving on despite his hand on her arm. He took a step with her and gave her a look, at which she sighed and stopped again. "Listen, I'm just… I'm just surprised that Harry's being nice to anyone from the start. When has he ever opened up? It means something-"

"I forgot to add," Ron cut in, "that Lupin was also one of the Potters' friends to the end, that he used to go and visit them even when they were in hiding. He's probably known Harry since Harry was a kid." Shrugging, he added, "Just something to think about."

"Why?"

"Because if he's known Harry since Harry was a kid, then Lupin might not be too happy giving out family secrets."

"Ron, we're not asking for secrets," Hermione pointed out. "We're not even sure what we want to know. We're just trying to see if Lupin has any ideas on how we can help Harry… how we can be better friends." They'd walked out of the gardens and were headed towards the visitors' apartments with some speed. Distractedly, Hermione continued, "We can explain the whole situation. If he's known Harry for so long--unless you think he doesn't know-"

"I don't think he knows," Ron confirmed firmly. "I don't think anyone else knows about Harry and his childhood 'friends.'"

She paused, biting her lip. "What if we do tell him about the Malfoys?" she wondered nervously. "He's close to Harry. He'll know what to do."

"What if he goes straight to the Aurors? We all get busted. The Malfoys _and_ us, for leaving school property on our own free will."

"Then we just talk about what Malfoy's done to Harry. Tell them that Malfoy's completely brainwashed Harry." She thought that over and suddenly smiled. "Not too far from the truth, is it?"

Ron smiled back at her. "A good lie never is."

"A good lie?"

He shrugged carelessly. "Something I overheard from the Slytherins."

**…**

Remus walked carefully around the room, raising his eyebrows at how different it could be from the rest of the area. This room had nothing like the delicate French beauty prominent in Remus's own room. Everything looked like it had suffered too many blasting charms; clothing was thrown everywhere, blankets tangled up with them, and the odd decoration joined the mess on the floor. The house elves would have a fit.

In the middle of it all was a bed, his destination, and cautiously he walked forward--waded, more like--through the piles of clothes and scatters of trash. The room was absolutely gruesome; the reason behind its current state was rather obvious.

"I told you this would happen," he called out dryly to the lump on the bed, kicking a basket out of his way. "You should have listened to me."

The lump shifted a little under the tons of blankets, a low moan being emitted from the pillows.

Remus rolled his eyes, feeling not one shred of pity, and he took another step forward, landing him at the foot of the bed. He rattled its frame heavily, gaining another moan from the lump. "You should have at least tried to talk to him, you know. He's only getting angrier by the second, and if he saw you in here moping, nothing would ever fix it."

He got no response and, sighing, Remus sat down on the foot of the bed. "It always happens like this," he muttered loudly enough to be heard, "and every time, you only make things worse. For goodness sake, Sirius, you should have learned five years ago what Harry was like."

"Leave me alone." At least the words were definite; the body was still nothing more than an unsightly hump.

He wasn't entirely unsympathetic to his best friend's dilemma. It would have been impossible to ignore how cold Harry had been the night before, avoiding both his guardians to trail after his brother. Sirius had expected all wrongs to have been forgotten in the short time since his fight with the boy--Sirius, after all, rarely held his own grudges for longer than a day. After that, the Auror lived as though all wrongs were forgiven. Harry, obviously, had a different idea and kept his grudges close to heart.

But from the friendly morning he'd shared with the teenager, Remus was beginning to believe that Harry hadn't meant to come off as cold, only that he was too absorbed in his brother's company to notice anyone else. If that were true, then Sirius had no real reason to mope around.

Remus shuffled uneasily on the bed, letting his hands rest in his lap as he gave his best friend a sorry shake of his head. "I can't do that. You couldn't get along in the world without someone to watch out for you. I mean, I've been gone only a morning and look what's happened to you. Look what's happened to your room!" His nose wrinkled. "You haven't even bathed, have you?"

This earned a violent kick for his efforts, greatly hampered by the blankets that covered Sirius's legs. His friend burrowed a moment, allowing his head to emerge with its tousled hair all over his face. "For your information," Sirius growled darkly, "I _have _bathed."

Remus gestured helplessly around the room. "Then it must be all the dirty clothing in here."

Sirius glared at him, sneering with his lips pulled up to show his canines. "Those clothes are all clean, Lupin."

"How did they all end up on the floor, then?"

"I..." Sirius wiggled a moment, expression slightly guilty as he hid it under a pillow, "... I needed to hit something, that's what. And that stupid dresser stubbed my toe." He let out a low sound of angry. "Bloody French furniture."

"Padfoot, as long as you are still yourself, please refrain from showing off your animalistic nature." Remus pulled at the blankets, yanking them down to force Sirius to look at him. "And stop this idiotic moping. You're a grown man, Sirius. Act like it. Throwing tantrums and hiding in your bedroom won't do anything to make it better."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to deal with him."

Remus rubbed at his neck. "I do, you know. I just deal with him a lot better." He didn't dare add that Harry had been very happy at breakfast--gloating would solve nothing. "And I don't just go around ordering the boy to do whatever I want him to do--unlike someone else in this room. Harry doesn't obey orders and he isn't some simpering lad trying to please you, Padfoot. He isn't your fan; he's your godson. You have to be his godfather."

"That," his friend muttered, "sounds a lot like some inspirational parenting speech."

Remus tossed back his head and laughed lightly. "I might have read some brochures," he admitted cheekily. "But you have to admit that, without James, you're the closest thing to a father that boy has. Either boy has. Speaking of which... where is Leo?"

Sirius groaned, finally getting to move. His shoved the blankets off like a horrendous weight, letting them dump to the floor loudly and combing back his hair once he'd fully emerged. "Dunno. Probably getting up. It's not like we really have anything to do." He looked at Remus carefully. "How long can you stay, Moony? I don't want to be here by myself the whole time."

Remus laughed again, standing up and easily avoiding the puddle of blankets now spreading across the floor. "I'll be here as long as I can," he answered breezily, motioning a hand for Sirius to get a move on. "When Leo's concerned... I don't think that the Ministry will have any dire cases for me during the next week or so. You?"

"As long as Leo wants to stay," replied Sirius with a little shrug. He wore wrinkled robes under all the blankets but, Remus saw, the robes were different from the ones he'd worn the day before. Maybe he hadn't been lying about showering.

"So what exactly were you doing?" Sirius asked as he moved around the room, carelessly kicking his things back against the wall to succeed in making a little pathway where Remus had not. "You must be crazy to be awake this early-"

"I was getting you to talk to Harry," answered Remus firmly. "Neither of you will admit it, but you need each other."

Suddenly, Sirius let out a low laugh. "If that's what you plan to do, maybe you should have left Leo at home."

**…**

It was, quite possibly, the first time anyone had ever seen Harry Potter laugh. At least, the first time anyone had ever seen him laugh _so much_! Draco watched, teeth grinding in anger, and he could practically feel the witch beside him burning up in the same emotion. She, however, only went perfectly still, body paralyzing with passion. She would probably sit the whole day in frozen rage, watching and doing nothing because any act would only be against her nature.

Callously, he stood up and made sure to jostle her, to knock her body out of its paralysis. Wordlessly, she glared up before she silently got up and walked after him. The pitch looked so tiny, only a large bit of green grass, and the figures flying in the air looked even smaller. But small as they were, watching them only increased Draco's temper.

"He's losing on purpose!" hissed the Weasley witch, furious. "I saw him fly at Hogwarts--Harry's much better than that!" Out on the pitch, the larger of the two figures swooped dramatically, leaving the air open for the other to fly past. Weasley sucked in an enraged breath, pausing to stare. "That was fake-"

"Yes, Weasley, Potter's losing because he wants to," Draco drawled irritably. "I don't need a play-by-play." Weasley looked up at him, slightly surprised, and Draco remembered he was supposed to be her ally in this. He put on a slightly apologetic look and obviously glared out towards the pitch. "This only… this only goes to show you!" he began again with an obnoxious tone, making sure she knew where his anger was pointed. "Stupid brat, he won't even allow Harry to play properly."

Satisfied, the witch looked back to the pitch herself, not noticing how Draco's eyes rolled.

"Well, what do we do?" she asked, beginning to get a little nervous as they approached the pitch. Potter and his brother were growing larger, changing from little flies in the distance to life-sized people, and Weasley seemed to be having second thoughts about a forced confrontation.

"Why don't you go talk with Potter?" Draco suggested in an innocent voice, making a point not to look her way when she gave him an incredulous glance. He motioned off to the sides of the pitch where a large group of wizards and witches were gathered, most of them talking excitably amongst themselves as they looked up at the hero of the world. For explanation, he added, "Those are the Auror guards for Leonard. I'll go talk to them, distract them while you talk to Harry."

Weasley eyed the "guards" apprehensively. "What will you say?"

"I'll come up with something," answered Draco, waving his hand dismissively, "buying you enough time to talk with Harry." She still looked uncertain so Draco gave her a cool look. "What?"

"What about… what about Leonard?" She wiped her hands together, glancing up towards the two brothers. "I don't think Harry's just going to leave his brother to talk to me-"

"Am I supposed to come up with everything, Weasley?" Draco asked in a controlled voice, eyes narrowing slightly. Arms crossing over his chest, he glared at her. "Or do you want to switch places? Why don't you go distract the Aurors--the ones who told us, when we were looking for the Potters in the first place, that if we got within breathing distance of the two, they'd hex us?"

The girl paled.

Shrugging, Draco started to turn away, advising over his shoulder, "Just think of an excuse. Tell them the godfather wants him." He paused, turning back to give her one last look. "I'm sure you'll think of something, Weasley."

The girl blushed.

Mentally snorting at her, Draco turned again and started towards the group of wizards again, seeing out of the corner of his eyes how she started with an air of determination towards Potter. He smirked. 'Fool of a Gryffindor,' he thought at her. She thought she was self-sacrificing, making deals with him, the devil of Hogwarts, in order to save Potter's soul. 'Maybe he'll even forgive you once this is all over, if you tell him you were only trying to do him good.'

He reached the group of wizards--a group so obviously not Aurors that Draco was unsure, for a moment, that Weasley would fall for it. They were Ministry officials, which meant that they were doing Ministry business, which could only mean the October task.

'Potter knows what the task is,' Draco knew with a quiet anger. 'I know all the champions were told, and it's something they felt they had to prepare for.' He'd only seen them this morning, small groups of champions wandering around together, training. Potter had been with them yesterday; today, his brother arrived, he was playing Quidditch. And Potter hadn't said a word about what the task was to anyone.

"Can I help you?"

Draco smiled winsomely at the witch, effecting a slightly confused expression. "I was just wondering what was going on here," he replied easily. "You see, my friends and I had scheduled a Quidditch scrimmage match today but now it looks like we won't be able to use to pitch."

"Oh." The witch laughed lightly and looked around. "Go ahead and play--those two are." She motioned to the Potter brothers. "See? No big inconvenience. We're just on this little corner for now."

"I see." Draco paused, letting his face acquire a truly curious look. He frowned a little. "For now? And what exactly are you doing?" He tipped his head to one side, adding politely, "We don't want to bother you if it's something important--it's obvious that the Ministry must be doing something official out here, something that we teens shouldn't botch just because we want to play."

Laughing again, the Ministry witch shook her head. "No, no, you children won't mess anything up. We're only on the ground. Unless you're such terrible Quidditch players," she pointed out with a grin, "that you'll fall to the ground. If that's the case, then you really should just hold off until the end of the month, or else play somewhere else."

Draco's shoulders sagged. "The end of the month?"

"You're afraid that you'll fall?"

"Well, one of my friends _is_ terrible at flying, but we can't play without her. She's such a bookworm, she needs to get out and do something, but she's only agreed to fly if everyone else is."

"Ah," the witch nodded knowingly, "I have a brother like that. Let's see…" She looked around thoughtfully. "If you're afraid that she'll fall--and that really would mess us up--then you can just fly over the field that we're not using. That gives you a few days flying, at least, before you have to stop."

"A few days?" Draco repeated mindlessly. "Today's Friday. Do you mean a week, or only until, say, Tuesday?"

She smiled apologetically. "Actually, only until Monday. Sorry, but we need to be finished in time for… ah, well, Ministry business."

"All right then," he started confidently, pretending that her sudden reticence was not a clue, pretending that he didn't catch her sudden flush of embarrassment as she realized how much she'd said. He smiled at her again, letting her relax in relief. "I'll have to come as soon as I can."

Respectfully, he nodded and headed away, thinking furiously. 'Monday,' he repeated triumphantly. 'The task starts Monday, and it's big enough to need the entire Quidditch pitch.'

"What a nice kid," he heard the witch comment to one of her friends.

He couldn't keep from smirking when that friend, incredulous, replied, "Nice? I've never heard someone say that about the Malfoys."

**…**

"I was… worried about you," Leo said after a moment, eyes shining up in childish question. He let his legs hang over the broom's thin length, floating like a limp corpse with arms crossed at his forehead to form a fleshy support. The broom made a paper cut across the kid's face, splitting both sides evenly with the eastern sun lighting one half and the western darkness pooling in the curves of the other. "They told me all these things are going on. I didn't know."

Harry stretched out to his back on the ground beneath the floating broom, hands folded beneath his head and elbows splayed haphazardly to either side of his skull. The morning had been bliss--no one bothered them.

He smiled at his little brother, the early sun playing the same shadows on his own face. "You don't need to worry about me. There's nothing dangerous here and even if there were, there are lots of people to look after me here. Beauxbatons is guarded thickly."

The child blinked. "Oh! I thought the Aurors were just with me."

"There's more with you here, but even when you leave they'll be Aurors to make sure nothing happens. So don't waste any time worrying, okay?" On impulse, Harry reached up and ruffled Leo's hair, finishing the disordered look the Quidditch game had started. Leo grinned impishly down on him.

"So you like Aurors now?"

Harry bit the inside of his lip, his face losing its smile, and he finally gave a soft sigh for an answer. "If they keep you safe, then I like them." At the pause, Harry suddenly became most serious. "Meanwhile, I've been worrying about you. I sent you so many owls--why didn't you answer any?"

Leo shrugged a thin shoulder, rolling off the broom to his feet and standing over Harry, one hand on his hip and one hand pulling the broom out of the air. "I didn't get any owls, Harry. When I told Uncle Sirius, he said you were too busy to write. I thought maybe you were mad at me or something-"

"Mad at you? I've never been mad at you!" Harry's forehead wrinkled, a bad drop sending his stomach feeling queasy. "What else did Sirius say?"

The kid shrugged again, face naVvely innocent of any suspicion. "I don't really remember. Maybe he said not to write you. I think he did. Maybe he said…" Leo scratched a spot at his neck, "…not to bother you? That's why I didn't." His eyebrows pinched together at the change in Harry's face. "Something the matter?"

Harry swallowed and forced a smile, standing up. "No, nothing's wrong."

"You're not going to have a fight with Uncle Sirius, are you?"

Snorting, Harry pulled Leo into a side-hug, leaving one elbow crooked around his neck. "What do you think? Why would I fight with Sirius? I haven't seen him in about two weeks--what would we have to fight about?"

Leo threw his hands in the air, an exaggerated gesture probably copied from spending so much time around Sirius. His elbows practically flew above his head. "Who knows," he declared loudly, bopping his head against Harry's hip. "You two are _always_ fighting. Uncle Sirius says you don't even need a reason to anymore."

"How about you stop listening to Sirius so much, eh?" Harry suggested, a wry smile tugging back to his face as he led away from the pitch and back towards the Great Hall. They had been out of sight for a few hours now, and people who didn't care when Harry disappeared would become frantic if Leo didn't show. "Remus has better advice."

"_He_ says I have to stay by you while I'm here to make sure you don't get in a _huge_ fight with Uncle Sirius in front of the whole school."

Harry couldn't help it and burst out laughing. Leo's huge eyes and excited voice painted the picture enough: he fully expected Harry to blow up at the mere sight of the Auror. Still laughing, he gently socked Leo in the jaw. "Did he, now?"

"Yup," the little boy answer enthusiastically, head nodded almost off its neck. "Said he'd take me somewhere if you didn't have a fight the whole time I'm here."

Laughter calming down to a few chuckles, Harry shook his head. "That's a tough challenge. You think he's going to take you somewhere nice? I'll be on my best behavior if you want me to."

Leo rolled his head to stare incredulously at Harry, childish face puckered with some adult expression. "I already know that. But I don't know where he's taking me. Maybe a park! Maybe a trip!" He pointed a serious finger towards Harry. "So don't fight with Uncle Sirius."

"I won't," Harry replied sincerely, amused at his brother's enthusiasm. "…But just to make sure, you should probably stick around me the whole month. Who knows what'll happen if I have to see Sirius by myself!"

"Good morning, Harry."

Harry sighed deeply. She had been watching for some time now, just staying out of reach, just watching long enough for him to begin to hope that she didn't mean to interrupt. It was too much to really hope for.

His brother turned, surprised, and imperiously he pointed his broom handle at her. "Who are you?" asked Leo suspiciously, the broom looking like some elongated wand in his hands.

Ginny had been crouching, sitting on the side of the walkway, and she stood up gracefully, hands brushing off her robes before she looked at Harry again. It was, Harry knew automatically, a stalling technique, Ginny doing whatever she could to gain enough time. 'Probably to order her thoughts,' he thought bitterly, remembering too well the many times she had started on him with a well-prepared speech.

"Leo," Harry introduced politely, unable to prevent a chill from entering his voice, "this is Ginny Weasley. She's one of the Hogwarts students staying with me for the year." He tipped his head slightly towards the girl. "Ginny, my brother Leo."

Leo snorted, amused, and he lowered his broom. "Of course she knows who I am," he grumbled lowly, shooting Harry a little smile. Harry couldn't keep from smiling back, noting as he did so the way Ginny tensed up. His smile broadened.

"Good morning, Ginny," Leo went on cordially, smiling another smile at the witch. But whatever either brother expected, Ginny only stiffened more. Leo's smile faltered.

Harry frowned, turning a hard stare on Ginny. "Maybe she didn't hear you, Leo," he said, addressing his brother even while he continued glaring at her. "She's a little deaf."

"Oh." Leo blinked, eyes widening a bit as he stared at her, probably trying to reason out exactly how deaf Ginny was likely to be.

"Good morning, Leo," Ginny finally replied, taking the hint. She looked away from Harry to give Leo a forced smile. "And I do know who you are. Harry is _always_ talking about you."

Harry touched his brother on the elbow, trying his best to think up some reason for getting his brother to leave. He couldn't say anything to Ginny in front of Leo. Ginny, however, continued saying, "I think your godfather's looking for you, Leo-"

"Leo doesn't have a godfather," Harry interrupted loudly, feeling his temper heating up. Leo gave him a curious look and, swallowing, Harry forced himself to keep calm. He smiled, a fake and forced thing that matched the expression on Ginny's face. "Remus, of course, was the obvious choice, but the Ministry has a thing against werewolves for some reason."

Ginny's face turned just the slightest bit paler, but her voice was steady as ever. "Never mind. But I did see your… your Uncle Sirius walking around the Great Hall not too long ago."

Leo smiled brightly, grabbing hold of one of Harry's hands and swinging it. "Good!" the little boy answered cheerfully, and when Ginny's forehead wrinkled in confusion, he explained, "Me and Harry were just heading that way. We'll find him-"

"Ah…" Ginny brushed some hair back and forced another grin. "Now that I really think about it, I remember that he wasn't by the Great Hall. At least, he isn't now. Someone, er, someone told him that you two were in the _gardens_…and he's probably there now."

'Low shot,' Harry thought angrily at her. 'Very, very low shot.' Broken statues, screaming as they fell into dust and destroyed plaster… He swallowed, a dizzy spell hitting him in the form of memories of that day.

Leo, oblivious, shrugged a shoulder. "Then we'll go there. Thank you for coming to tell us."

"Why don't you go find Sirius yourself?" suggested Harry lightly, turning Leo around to face his little brother. He smiled softly but beneath the smile, his muscles were tensing up. His hands on Leo's shoulders were stiff as nails with the effort of keeping his fingers from curling up into fists while he still held his younger brother. "I think I'm going to stay here and talk with Ginny for just a minute and then I'll catch up with you."

Innocently, Leo smiled back and nodded. "Sure." When he walked off, three shadows that had been standing still as pillars walked with him, his guard providing all the company Leo would need to find Sirius.

Harry watched, jaw tensing up, and when Leo finally disappeared, he turned back to the waiting witch. "He's gone," Harry simply started, glancing once at Ginny before looking away, focusing his eyes on something else and deliberately avoiding her face. "Since you wanted to get rid of him, you can now tell me whatever it is you want-"

"Oh Harry," Ginny breathed, sighing forlornly. She took a tentative step forward and, when Harry took a matching step away, she clasped her hands together, obviously frustrated. "Harry, I just wanted to talk with you-"

"Talk fast," Harry broke in callously, studiously staring at the Quidditch pitch. The group of wizards who had been there since early morning was still working away hard with spelling the area. If he wanted to, he supposed he could find out exactly what spells they were using and why, but all Harry really wanted to do was spend time with his brother.

"Harry!" Ginny snapped. "Grow up, all right? And stop being so rude."

Harry arched an eyebrow, surprised enough to look up at her. She was frowning but in a trembling fashion, looking both angry and timid. It was an intriguing combination. 'But it fits her,' thought Harry, deadly. 'This way, she'll yell at me until I'm ready to fight and then break down into tears. The perfect way to catch me in a trap.'

Sighing, Harry looked away. "Just say whatever you want, Ginny," he said tiredly, rubbing his forehead. It was hard to remember how quickly his mood changed with her appearance. "Really, I can't… I can't handle much more of this."

"More of what?" the witch asked in an aggressive tone. She was glaring, Harry knew, and he guessed she probably had her hands clenched into hard fists; the perfect image of her House.

'Our House,' Harry reminded himself, a touch amused at the necessity of a reminder. 'I'm in Gryffindor, too: House of the brave, the courageous, the impulsive fighters.' He didn't answer her question.

"I just… um, where did you sleep last night?" asked the witch, her aggression suddenly fading into quietness. Harry kept quiet, and she hesitantly added, "We all stayed up late waiting for you to come back--well, I don't know about Malfoy, but I think he did too. And then, at breakfast, we see you leaving…"

"Is that it?" Harry asked, incredulous. He gave her a disbelieving look, eyebrows raised. "You just wanted to know where I was?"

"No!" Ginny blurted out with a touch of exasperation. "That's just the start of it." Taking a deep breath, she continued to say, "I wanted to know what happened last night, why you just left. I want to know why you don't want to talk to anyone at all. Before, you only talked to Malfoy. Then, it seemed like all you did was go to those training sessions--you wouldn't even talk to Hermione, and you two had looked like you were beginning to be friends."

"I am friends with Hermione," Harry answered weakly, then he swallowed, strengthening himself against any weakness. 'You know what she's doing!' he accused himself, then thoughtfully, 'The training sessions…'

For the last two weeks, those training sessions were what he lived for. He had been reviewing all that his parents had taught him, which only brought back memories of those childhood lessons. And for two weeks, he had dreamed nonstop of his parents, of his childhood, and had wondered whether he really should take a step back to mending his relationship with Draco.

'He is, after all, my biggest connection to Lucius,' Harry knew, feeling the old indecision come back over him. As hard as he could, he pushed that feeling away. 'No. Not again. I can't keep pretending with him.'

"You sure act like friends!" Ginny raged, her timidity gone. She frowned and glared. "You haven't said two words-"

"All right, I'll go talk to her. Is that all you want?" Harry raised his eyebrows, sneering, and Ginny sputtered on a word before Harry said, "I thought so. When will you ever be satisfied, Ginny? When I follow you around like a puppy? When I obey only you?"

"That's not what I'm trying to do-"

"Give it a rest, Weasley," a new voice cut in, the drawl familiar enough that Harry didn't even have to turn to see Draco standing behind him. "Potter only has to really think about everything you've said so far to know that, really, you _do_ want him as a servant."

"Malfoy!" Ginny hissed. "You little-"

Draco walked around Harry and turned so that they faced each other. He looked the same as ever, a slightly bored expression on his face, ignoring Ginny as though she didn't even exist. "Potter, you show yourself." The declaration was spoken in a tone of sarcastic surprise.

Harry, wary, nodded once. "I do," he admitted carefully, shooting Ginny a glance. He felt surrounded.

"Good. It seemed for awhile that you were going to abandon the rest of us mere students for your family."

"It was only a night," Harry defended himself, eyes narrowing. He glared from Draco to Ginny. "What is going on?"

"Harry," began Ginny urgently, but Draco smirked confidently.

"I think, Potter," he began, drawling again and throwing an arm over Harry's shoulders, slowly turning him around, "that you and I are going to become friends again."

"Harry," Ginny said again, but Draco glared at her, giving her a shooing motion. "Don't trust-"

"Why is that?" Harry asked suspiciously, shrugging Draco's arm off. He frowned. "Why?"

"Because…" Draco smiled widely, showing off all his teeth, and his news shut Ginny up, "I know when your little task is going to start. And I'll tell you. If you introduce me to your brother."

**…**

"Sirius!"

Jumping back, Sirius bit back a curse as the steaming hot coffee in his mug spilled onto his fingers, instantly scalding the skin. Hissing in pain, Sirius dropped the cup and began frantically waving his burnt fingers in the air. "Next time, Leo, try not to startle me when I'm holding something hot," he muttered darkly, eyes watering as he looked to the small child.

Leo didn't look the least bit sorry for the accident, having an annoyed look on his face. "What is it?" he asked. "What do you want?"

Refusing the give into the urge to stick his burnt fingers into someone else's cold drink, Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Something you want?"

"I _want_ to go back and keep playing Quidditch with Harry," answered Leo with a slight drawl in his voice, "but that Weasley girl said you were looking for me."

Sirius shrugged, turning back to his cup and sending a cooling charm on it. "I wasn't," he replied calmly, grimacing as he tasted his coffee--far too cold now. 'Oh well, no sense in making it boiling hot again.' His fingers throbbed in agreement.

Leo crossed his arms over his chest, muttering to himself, and Sirius chuckled at the sight of his little charge looking so serious. Automatically, Sirius reached down and ruffled Leo's blond hair, chuckling again when the boy positively glared up at him. "What's eating you?" Sirius asked, amused. "You're acting like someone beat you at a game."

"That girl," Leo sputtered out indignantly, frowning as deeply as his childish features would go, "she just sent me away because she wanted to talk with Harry."

"That Weasley girl?" Sirius asked. "Ginny?" Leo nodded, furious, and Sirius bit back a smile. "Well, maybe she had some things she wanted to say without you around-"

"I don't care. I'll just ask Harry what she said--that'll show her."

"Maybe she thought you'd be bored by what they have to talk about," Sirius theorized with a grin. He ruffled Leo's hair again. "You know, boring adult stuff."

Leo bit his lip, glaring at his feet. "I still don't care. She just kicked me out! It's not fair."

Sirius looked up at the sound of footsteps. It was easy to pick out Remus's easy stride and calm presence coming towards them, especially since, being just inside the doors to the apartments, Remus was the only one who'd be walking here.

'Uh oh,' Sirius suddenly remembered with a cold flash of guilt. 'I'm supposed to be looking for Harry.' Moony wouldn't like it if he knew Sirius was really just trying to avoid that meeting altogether, and it looked like Moony was beginning to guess the truth.

While the other wizard was still a bit away, Sirius bent down to Leo's level and said, "You know what, I think you're right. She shouldn't have just kicked you out like that--the least she could have done was to ask you to leave."

The young Potter nodded vindictively.

"I have an idea: why don't you tell me where Harry is, and since Ginny's probably with him I'll go have a talk with her. How's that sound?"

"It wasn't that she just kicked me out," Leo hurried to add. "She made me think you were in the forest. I would have spent a long time wandering around if someone hadn't said you were here."

"The forest?" Sirius leaned back a little, startled. "She was going to send you into the forest?"

Leo nodded again with the same energy. "Yes. But then I remembered that we're not supposed to go in there, and how much trouble Harry got for going in there, and so I thought I should ask someone before leaving to find you."

"But she said the forest, right? Not--not the gardens or anywhere else?"

This time Leo rolled his eyes and nodded.

"Hmm." Sirius's eyes narrowed a little as he looked up, watching Remus walk the last few steps to them. "I'll have a long talk with her, don't worry."

"Did you find him?" asked Remus, smiling down at Leo but directing the question to Sirius.

Sirius smiled stiffly, straightening up and putting a heavy hand on Leo's shoulder. "I just found Leo playing Quidditch with Harry. The older brother of his is…"

"At the Quidditch field," Leo cut in cheerfully, all his moodiness dissipated.

Sirius bit the inside of his cheek hard when Remus gave him a suspicious look. The werewolf rolled his eyes. "Squeezing it out of little kids is cheating, Padfoot."

Leo smiled up at Remus. "Good morning."

"It's getting a little late to say good morning. In fact, it's right about noon."

Leo shrugged, unconcerned. "It was a good morning for me. I had a lot of fun with Harry before that Weasley girl kicked me out." He no longer looked upset about that, just a little sad. "I hope we can play again later."

"Well." Remus hesitated, glancing up at Sirius. "Leo, I thought that since we were going to be here for such a long time, I might as well find out about what Harry usually does. And I was just talking to another student who tells me that all the champions spend their afternoons getting ready for the task."

"So? That only means that no one else will bother us when we go play-"

"Leo," Remus interrupted seriously, "Harry is one of those champions. He'll need to go to practice."

Leo gave him a look that all but said, 'Says who?' and while it was funny to watch his best friend try to get the point across to Leo, Sirius was distracted by the two teenagers who had opened the door, who had stopped, who had begun to stare… and who looked uncomfortably familiar.

'Ron Weasley,' he identified blandly, wishing he hadn't noticed them, 'and Hermione Granger. Harry's friends.' The same ones who'd been there the first time Harry had exploded, the second time Harry had exploded, and who had disappeared when Harry had been kidnaped. 'Great,' he thought dryly as the two slowly began walking again, 'I don't even need a hint to know what they're going to want to talk about.'

He bit back a sigh and turned to face them, preparing himself for what he'd have to say. 'No, Harry isn't here. No, I don't know where he is. And no, I haven't fought with him, today at least-'

"Er, Mister Lupin," the girl began first, sounding very unsure of herself.

Remus looked up in surprise, cut off mid-explanation to the insistent Leo. Sirius also tipped his head, curious, all his words for the two erasing from his mind. "Em, yes?" Remus replied, glancing at Sirius. Sirius shrugged. Remus looked back at the two. "Me?"

The Weasley boy nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. We wanted to talk to you about-"

"We wanted to know if you had a spare moment to talk with us about our friend," the witch interrupted, sending the boy a quick look. Weasley shut his mouth, barely wiping off a smirk when she looked again. Granger smiled tentatively at Remus. "You know him-- Harry, I mean. We just, we had a fight and since you seemed like such good friends at breakfast we thought you'd be able to help us-"

"Wait a minute," Sirius cut in, forehead wrinkling. He gave Remus a hard look. "At breakfast, is it?"

Remus smiled cheekily, if a bit guiltily. "Well, about that, Sirius. I was going to tell you-"

"What exactly happened at breakfast, this breakfast where you seem to have been getting along so well with my godson?" Sirius put on a betrayed expression. "Moony! You let me believe that you hadn't seen Harry at all this morning!"

Still grinning, the werewolf shrugged. "I never said I hadn't. Besides, we're getting off subject." He looked at the teens. "I did notice the group of you being a little standoffish, and Harry mentioned something about you being angry. Why don't you just let things go?" At their blank looks, he added somewhat suspiciously, "You _are_ fighting about Harry leaving early last night, aren't you?"

"Why would they fight about that?" Sirius asked, perplexed. "Harry was just going with his brother. No big deal." He smiled wryly, looking over to Leo. "You do know who Harry's brother is, don't you?"

"Of course they do," Leo answered for them, sounding a little sulky. He had his arms crossed over his chest again, glaring at the floor again. Sirius gave him a concerned look.

"Well, it's a bloody good thing Harry told us instead of marching off without a word," the Weasley boy huffed.

His friend turned quickly and muttered, "Ron, hush!"

"But it's not about that at all," Weasley continued brassily. "We came to talk to you about-"

"About how-" the little witch vainly tried to take control of the situation, but Weasley just talked on over her.

"About how Malfoy's doing his best to control him."

Granger rubbed her forehead tiredly. "Great, Ron. Just great."

Sirius froze and he could see out of the corner of his eyes Remus tensing up as well. Leo was still sulking, but Sirius slowly turned his neck to stare at the two teenagers, ignoring Leo's attitude altogether. "What did you say? Malfoy?"

"Which Malfoy?" Remus asked cautiously.

"Both," Weasley snorted, but Granger quickly added, "Draco Malfoy, we mean. You know, the one here at school." She gave the other teen a sharp look that he ignored.

"It's gotten better in the last week or so--meaning, Harry pretty much ignores Malfoy now--but who knows how long it'll be until Harry goes back to acting like some servant." Weasley sighed, throwing one hand up in the air. "It's useless, really. Ever since we started school here, Harry does whatever Malfoy wants."

"Ron wasn't supposed to just blurt _everything_ out," Granger explained quickly, "but, really, Malfoy's the reason we need help. See, Harry doesn't like talking to us-"

"Malfoy probably told him not to-"

"-and we're running out of ways to convince Harry that Malfoy's, well, not a good person." She winced a little. "I mean, I suppose he's good in his own way, but…"

"He's a little snot," Weasley nearly snarled, "and not good in any way at all, Hermione!" She looked a little reluctant to argue the point. "So, do you think you can help us?" the teenager appealed to Remus pleadingly. "We've run out of ideas! First we tried to talk to him. Then we did whatever we could to gain his trust--and trust me, it should have been enough. We went back to talking, and now he's gone to ignoring us. Last night wasn't the worst of it at all, but it was the last straw."

Remus, to say the least, looked absolutely stunned and Sirius knew he must have the same expression on his face. Swallowing, the Auror opened his mouth to try and respond, but all he could do was stare, incredulous.

"What you're saying," Remus finally said, "is that Draco Malfoy is controlling Harry?" At their nods, Remus frowned. "I don't believe it."

"It is Draco Malfoy," Sirius pointed out softly, "Lucius Malfoy's son. And I bet the Malfoys would do anything they can to get a hold of Leo. We should have thought of this!"

"But this is Harry we're talking about," Remus pointed out dryly, giving Sirius a hard stare. "Do you think Harry would, well, become a 'servant' to anyone?" His eyes quickly skipped over to Leo, but returned to Sirius's face, proving his point. "I was talking to Harry this morning. He acted the same way he always did--and I would think that he had to have changed if all that is true."

"They're Death Eaters, Moony," Sirius replied harshly. "Remember the reports years ago, how they followed Lily and James? I bet they've been planning on something like this, waiting for Harry to get out of his protections… I never should have told him to go to Hogwarts!"

A sharp feeling of dread, the same one that had started clogging up his brain when he first heard about Harry getting admitted to this tournament, began choking him. Going to Hogwarts had seemed like such a good idea at the beginning--the only good way to go. Then everything went wrong, and now Death Eaters were manipulating his godson, reaping vengeance for all his past mistakes.

He could practically see them: black cloaks and frighteningly white masks, stalking through the streets late at night as they looked for someone new to kill. He was there, waiting for the trap to be sprung, hoping that nothing went wrong and that no spies had caught wind of this raid, wincing at the first screams and forcing himself to stay still because moving too soon would spoil everything. The duels came next, causing more and more screams while adding bright flashes of lights and loud explosions as spells and hexes flew everywhere… Picking up the dead bodies afterwards, refraining from adding the captured Death Eaters to the piles of carcasses…

And now he could see them, smirking beneath their white masks, taunting him about losing yet another person dear to him because of his own incompetence.

"Ah, Death Eaters," repeated Remus lowly, his eyes suddenly widening. He swallowed once, glanced at the teenagers, and then tried his best to school his expression. "You know, I just remembered something… it might be true…"

Sirius blinked his eyes and forced his memories back to the pits of his mind, away from the surface. Who needed to remember wartime? Who wanted to? He shook his head.

"We need help to keep Malfoy from getting any more influence over Harry-" Granger began urgently.

Leo, however, darkly said, "Just leave him alone. I'll tell him not to and no one will have to worry about it anymore."

The child scowled at the group in general, such a dark look that Sirius knew they'd done something to upset the boy. He thought hard, but couldn't remember anything in particular. Leo frowned, pouting more like, and glared at the floor but underneath it all, Sirius could tell that he was absolutely miserable for some reason.

For a good reason, Sirius realized suddenly. Leo had been talking with Remus, but when the two teenagers appeared he was forgotten and kicked out of the conversation--for the second time today, after what the Weasley girl did.

"I'm going to find Harry," Leo declared in the quiet that had settled in after his bold statement. He started off but paused after going a few steps, glancing back with an almost hopeful expression on his face. Whatever he saw, though, only wiped that expression off, and he continued walking down the hall, leaving the older wizards and witch to feel somewhat guilty.

"Em, what did he mean?" Granger asked after a moment went by. She looked like she knew what Leo mean, only that she needed to hear it from someone else to really believe. "When he said that he was just going to tell Harry…"

Sirius forced a smile and shrugged. "How about you tell us more of what's been going on here?" Changing the conversation instead of feeling so hypocritical: talking about keeping Harry from being used by Malfoy, while watching Leo go off to do the same thing. "Exactly what kinds of things did Malfoy do? And how did Harry get involved with the brat to begin with?"

Outside, minutes later, Leo slowly approached his brother with critical eyes, watching to see exactly how this "Malfoy brat" was "controlling" Harry, but it didn't look like there was much to watch. Malfoy was walking behind Harry, talking too quietly to be overheard, and Harry could have been sleeping for all his reaction to the other boy's words.

Malfoy noticed Leo before Harry did, and Leo almost grinned as Malfoy made sure Harry wasn't in a position to notice anything. He maneuvered Harry around so that the two brothers couldn't see eye-to-eye. Maybe there was something more to this--Malfoys being Malfoys, after all.

"Do you want to talk to your brother?" a voice asked from behind him.

Leo shook his head. "I do, but I can wait."

"That is Draco Malfoy up there."

"I know," he answered with an imperceptible smile. He glanced up at the Auror, a tall wizard all decked in white. "Are you getting ready to protect me from him?" The Auror didn't reply, didn't even looked down; all he did was stare forward, almost glaring at Malfoy.

"I don't need protecting," Leo felt necessary to remind them. "I could take care of Malfoy without any help from anyone. Everyone knows. So why worry?"

"It may not be prudent… to push yourself before you're ready," the Auror replied softly. He wasn't hesitant or respectful, he was only thoughtful as he said the words. "After last time-"

"Last time was different," interrupted Leo with a flush of irritation. He pushed the hair back from his forehead, feeling an odd twinge there as he did so. It was always the same, whenever he was annoyed or mad, ready to wreck some magic… "Last time, I was just surprised."

"Even so," the Auror intoned seriously, effectively ending the conversation.

Leo sighed to himself, looking back to where his brother was standing. Some of his guards were just too much; others he missed even if he wasn't supposed to.

So he focused on the manipulation of Harry Potter being unfolded in front of him. It was easy enough to see, impressive enough to watch. Leo knew his brother's every expression, knew when Harry felt pushed too far (his face would go spectacularly blank, his fists would clench once and then relax) or when he felt caught (his eyes would be a little wider than normal, darting around uncertainly). Leo could tell when Sirius was going to get it (Harry's voice would be deceptively calm, one eyebrow arched) or when Remus scored a point (Harry would flush and cross his arms, jaw tight).

And he could tell when Harry was wavering, when Harry would let Leo do something they weren't supposed to do: unlocking the shed to get out brooms even when Leo was grounded, sneaking Leo out into the woods those few times they'd gone out together, showing Leo another bit of magic before bedtime. He could tell because Harry would swallow hard, would try to look away and his eyes would betray him by looking back. Harry would verbally try to change the conversation, and you could see in his eyes the argument playing out behind the green. Leo could tell he was going to win because Harry's voice would drop down low, weakly throwing out the last few objections before giving in altogether.

Leo knew, but it was something else to see such things played out by someone else.

Harry's voice was low, but Malfoy had still manipulated his brother into practically walking backwards, slowly coming closer and closer to Leo. When Harry looked down at the ground and slowly gave way to the Slytherin's quick pushes back, Malfoy would glance up and give Leo an inscrutable look. Harry swallowed, voice sounding adamant enough, but to Leo's ear, there were shivers of uncertainty. Leo suspected, from the speculating look on Malfoy's face, that the other teen picked up the sound as well.

"No," Harry said darkly, strongly, looking up to glare at Malfoy after some new, unheard suggestion. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?" the Malfoy teen nearly purred. "Scared that I'll do something to wreck everything?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "I don't care what you know." His head dipped down and Malfoy glanced again at Leo, arching an eyebrow. Leo rolled his eyes and the Auror behind him tensed.

"This tournament is all about advantages, Potter."

"I'm not so poor in advantages that I'll sell out my brother to you."

Malfoy's eyes focused on Leo in a way that made Leo feel trapped. "Why don't you ask him first?" he suggested quietly, eyes not moving but question clearly directed at Harry. "We Malfoys have a reputation after all. Perhaps he'd agree to meeting me."

Leo's guard put a hand on his shoulder and, looking up, Leo blinked at seeing the wizard's face so very dark with anger and hate. But Harry seemed to say the words the Auror wanted to say. "I'd like to see you get close enough to Leo to introduce yourself. Can you do it? Can you get by all his guards, all the Aurors who hate the Malfoys and their money? They wouldn't let you a step in Leo's direction--I wouldn't be surprised to be told that they're following you in particular, making sure nothing like that even happens."

"We'll have to see about that," Malfoy answered airily, breaking eye contact to smirk at Harry. "After all, they are your brother's Aurors and if your brother wants to meet me, they can hardly do a thing about it."

Harry scoffed and started to turn around. When Malfoy's hand darted up, grabbing hold of Harry's shoulder to prevent that from happening, Leo almost winced. 'Bad move,' he thought to the Slytherin, biting his lip to keep from grinning. 'You've kept him from turning before, but not so obviously. He knows, now.'

Harry jerked away, taking a few wary steps back from the Slytherin, all tense all over. Malfoy looked instantly rueful about touching Harry, especially when Harry turned quickly and froze at seeing Leo there. But, just as Harry froze, Leo saw the flash of self-congratulations in the Slytherin's eyes on having made Harry turn just at this moment, on having planned everything for this revelation.

"Hello, Harry," Leo greeted cheerfully. "It turns out that Uncle Sirius didn't need me at all."


End file.
